


Easy P-Z

by ebjameston



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon-level mentions of suicidal ideation, HGTV AU, Jack Zimmermann Didn't Go to Samwell, M/M, Minor Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Pining, ZImbits endgame, just miscommunication by the BOATLOAD, there is no cheating or infidelity, this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written and I once wrote a Check Please Avengers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebjameston/pseuds/ebjameston
Summary: “It is your professional duty to ogle the booty,” Shitty says solemnly. “Honestly, brah, you have not lived until you’ve seen Jack Zimmermann’s jeans try to contain his ass when he bends over to pick something up. And this is a construction zone, Bits. He has to pick stuff up all the time.”+++Jack and Kent are the ridiculously handsome house-renovating married retired hockey players that’ve been making HGTV an absolutely stupid amount of money with their new show.And Eric Bittle just got hired to be their show’s caterer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Distracting myself from a WIP with another WIP. Typical.

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 15-APR-19 | DAY 3 OF 28**

“Bitty?”

“Yes, Chowder?” 

“Do you think we should actually, y’know, get set up?” 

Bitty doesn’t move his forehead from the steering wheel. “I adore you, hun, but if you don’t let me have the ten minutes I specifically planned into today’s schedule to have a minor freak out, I will tell Jack Zimmermann _exactly_ how many pictures of him you have in your room.” 

Chowder gasps, dismayed, but wisely remains silent. 

To be clear, it’s not like Bitty is _scared_. Yes, okay, there is a decent chance he’s going to meet both Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson today — two of the most talented hockey players in this generation, both tragically forced into retirement by injury far too early, both openly queer. And yes, this is Itty Bitty Catering’s first corporate gig, and if this goes well it could set his fledgling company up for success far beyond what Bitty’d hoped for in his first year. And yes, fine, he’s 23 and partially through an MBA and only has a quarter of an employee and is about to feed a crew of 40 that includes two HGTV executive producers and two former NHL stars — 

Okay. He might be a _little_ scared. 

+++

“I think you know all this already, but it’s day 3 of a scheduled 28-day shoot,” Sara says, ducking under a piece of equipment without missing a beat. “That’s 28 filming days, 36 calendar days. We’re normally only at a location for a week, but the guys took a look around and decided they wanted to tear this place down to the studs and the owners were on board, so we’re doing a special to start the third season. Some of the kids from the Junior Falcs will be around next week, did someone already talk to you about kid-friendly menus?” 

Bitty nods, mentally cross-referencing everything against the file he’d put together as he follows Sara, the production manager, across a yard studded with camera and construction equipment, a pile of half-rotted lumber, and various crew members. 

“Great. The adults Falcs tend to stop by to harass the boys sometimes too — hockey players are harder to keep track of than eels when it’s not a game day.”

Bitty snorts back a laugh at that. “Believe me, ma’am, that’s not news to me.” 

“Oh, right!” Sara snaps her fingers. “Larissa mentioned you were captain of your college team, they’ll love that. George usually tries to give me a heads-up if anyone’s headed over, but it’s hit-or-miss.”

“George?” 

“Georgia Martin, assistant GM for the Falconers. Also, my wife,” Sara adds with a shy smile. “No calling me ma’am or Ms. Nguyen, by the way, we’re all first-name folks here. Okay, here we are.” 

She pushes aside a plastic flap and ushers Bitty into a mid-sized tent, talking all the while. “Prep area’s over there, we can bring in a couple more long tables for you to set food out over there if you need them. Be here to prep for lunch around 11, for dinner around 5. I know it doesn’t look like much, and it’s probably nothing compared to your kitchen, but I promise it’s functional and you can hook up to the production trailer — that’s just out the back that way, the other trailers are down the street — for gas and water. Mia can get all that stuff set up for you.” 

“Thank you so much,” Bitty says earnestly. “For talking me through all of this, showing me around — heck, even giving me this opportunity in the first place.” 

Sara grins. “I’m just relieved our current homeowners happened to know someone available on such short notice after our last contract fell through. It’s a bonus that you’ve got experience feeding hockey players. Let’s see, what else? Expenses go to Hamza for approval until your company card gets here, some of the head honchos from HGTV will be here not next weekend but the weekend after….and I’ll send all of this to you in an email instead of rambling, don’t worry.” 

Bitty sighs in relief just in time to have the air knocked out of him by a flying B. Shitty Knight. 

“BITS!” 

“Hi, Shitty,” Bitty laughs, relaxing happily into Shitty’s enthusiastic hug. “Shouldn’t you be in class? And where’s Lardo?” 

“She’s at Krav Maga and I don’t have class until 3 on Mondays. She left me to reign over the destruction of our home all on my lonesome, can you believe the heartlessness?” 

Bitty squints. “Weren’t you the one who applied to be on the show? Without telling her?” 

“BETRAYAL,” Shitty hollers.

Sara rolls her eyes fondly. “All right, Eric, since you’re in good — er — capable — well, you’re in _hands_ , anyway, and I’ve got a million things to do. You’ve got all the Production office’s numbers, shoot me a text if you need something before Mia gives you a walkie.” 

“You’re a beacon of well-organized and efficient light!” Shitty calls after her, then slings an arm around Bitty’s shoulders. A bare arm, of course, because even though it’s the middle of April, Shitty is wearing denim overalls, boots, and nothing else. “And where’s our adorable goalie friend?” 

“Parking Dorothea in the crew area. We’re _crew_ , Shitty. IBC is _crew_. For a _TV show_.” 

“A TV show featuring two of your favorite former hockey players, no less,” Shitty says, waggling his eyebrows in an absurdly over-suggestive manner. 

“I’m a business owner, Mr. Knight,” Bitty retorts, masking his accent as best he can (and trying not to giggle).“I’m here to do my professional duty — no more, no less.” 

“It is your professional duty to ogle the booty,” Shitty says solemnly. “Honestly, brah, you have not _lived_ until you’ve seen Jack Zimmermann’s jeans try to contain his ass when he bends over to pick something up. And this is a _construction zone_ , Bits. He has to pick stuff up _all the time_.” 

“Glad to see law school still hasn’t managed to change you.” Bitty checks his phone absently — a couple Twitter notifications, a message from Mama (“Hope your first day is going well!!!”), a message from Chowder (“just parked borrowing a roller cart thing from some dude named ricardo”). “Have you actually met them, then?” 

“Who, Jack and Parse? ‘Course we have, they were out here over the weekend and a couple times before to do paperwork and talk about plans and stuff.” 

“What d’you think? Of them?” 

Shitty runs a hand through his still-short hair as he thinks. “Honestly, you probably wouldn’t know they’re famous if you didn’t, you know, _know_ they’re famous. Jack really takes all this historical preservation stuff seriously. He’s a little quiet, very focused. Parse is _not_ quiet, and I’ve already seen him do, like, six things that made the medic yell at him, but they seem like good guys. Stupidly in love. They almost make a crusty old cynic like myself believe in marriage again,” he concludes, holding his hand over his heart and gazing wistfully into the distance before bursting into giggles. 

Someone dashes through one of the tent flaps and throws himself bodily in Shitty’s direction, and it’s probably only weeks of helping Holster and Ransom practice what they called “the flying koala” that gives Shitty the muscle memory to brace and move with the incoming momentum. He ends up with 5 feet, 10 inches of blond former hockey star clinging to his shoulders and looks absolutely delighted with this development. 

“Shitty,” Kent Parson —because it’s _Kent freaking Parson_ , what even is Bitty’s life — says seriously. “You have to hide me.” 

Shitty heaves a dramatic sigh, which jostles Kent up and down a few inches. “Tova? Again?” 

“I’m not even hurt this time!” Kent protests. “I was barely on the roof for two minutes, I didn’t _need_ a harness. She’s freaking out for no reason.” 

“Good Lord,” Bitty bursts out. “You were on the _roof_? Of _Lardo and Shitty’s house_? I don’t care if you _were_ wearing a harness, I’ve had dinner here, that roof is in _no_ condition to be walked on.” 

“Well maybe not _now_ , but I’m going to fix that,” Kent says proudly. He extends an arm over Shitty’s shoulder for a shake. “Hi. I’m Kent.” 

“Parson, I know,” Bitty says. “I’m Eric Bittle.” 

“The new caterer!” Kent squawks and bats at Shitty’s chest to be let down. “Thanks so much for coming to save us from starving to death.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Like there aren’t seven other catering companies in a thirty-minute radius who’d be climbing over each other for this contract.”

“Snarky!” Kent exclaims, whacking at Shitty again. “Shitty, you and Lardo didn’t tell me he was snarky!” 

“He contains multitudes,” Shitty says loftily. 

“Quoting things I don’t understand again,” Kent says threateningly, then turns back to Bitty. “Listen, though, I’m seriously super glad you’re here. We have a bunch of crew birthdays coming up and none of our other caterers could bake for shit — I’ve been taking notes, if I give you a list of flavors and stuff people like and the dates, could we make a plan to do special stuff for birthdays?” 

Bitty gapes for a second while Shitty snickers behind a hand. This is literally turning into his dream job: Itty Bitty Catering does provide a full range of meals, but his heart still belongs to baking. Any excuse to do more of it, _plus_ the added bonus of making people feel special on their birthday — of course, of course, of _course._

Kent, however, seems to take Bitty’s pleased shock as hesitance, and he starts rambling. “It wouldn’t be that much! They wouldn’t have to be big things — just, like, a couple cupcakes, or I think Lardo mentioned you make mini pies? If Hamza gives you shit about expense overages, I’ll pay for anything extra you need out of pocket, I swear.” 

“PARSE,” someone bellows from outside the tent, and then the flap gets knocked aside to admit a thirty-something woman who has a cloud of curly dark hair secured in a bun and a massive first aid kit strapped to her back. 

“Now, Tova, listen.” Kent switches gears from pleading with Bitty to attempting diffusion without missing a beat.

“Do not even start with me,” she says, seething. “You did something stupid, _again_ , so your team has to sit through a safety briefing, _again_ , and if you keep this up I’m going to be the one explaining to Production why we’re behind schedule, _again —.”_

She tows Kent out of the tent by the upper arm, Kent protesting weakly all the while. The flap’s barely settled by the time Chowder backs in, tugging a cart full of supplies behind him, and Bitty launches into action.

+++

Halfway through lunch service, Bitty’s mental list of things to account for next time — if he _gets_ a next time, honestly, this has basically been a disaster and he’s holding back tears through sheer force of will —has grown alarmingly long.

  * More napkins. So, so many more napkins. 
  * People don’t sit down for long, so mini pies would actually be more practical. Or hand pies?
  * Two of the boom operators are on cleanses and will only eat raw.
  * When you’re on location at a house that’s being renovated, don’t assume the normal rules of sanitation apply. 
  * Lunch apparently happens any time after 11, depending on when the staff can trade off shifts, and Bitty has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to get back to his tiny rented kitchen in Providence to get dinner prepped in time. 
  * Print common allergens or sensitivities in each dish and put them somewhere prominent, because if one more person asks him if _this has gluten in it_ —



“Hi, sorry, does this have gluten in it?” 

“ _Yes_ , for the love of all things holy, the cornbread contains gluten —” Bitty cuts himself off with an undignified choking sound when he whirls to find Jack Zimmermann staring at him, clearly taken aback, with wide blue eyes. 

“Sorry,” Jack says again, and Bitty could kick himself for not hearing that drawn out “O” the first time. “I bet you’re getting that question every five minutes. Preethi made us all read _Wheat Belly_ last month.” 

“I just yelled at Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, dazed. “I am so getting fired.” 

And then, because the universe hasn’t had quite enough fun tormenting him today, he bursts into tears. 

“Whoa,” he hears, and then Jack’s around the table and standing _very_ close and Bitty’s frazzled brain distantly realizes that Jack is using his _very_ broad chest to block Bitty from view for most of the tented area. “I don’t — there’s not a lot of privacy around here —.”

“Dorothea,” Chowder pipes in, having apparently returned from running plates to the Production trailer. 

“Dorothea?” Jack repeats. 

“The van.” Something jingles, and then Jack’s hand is gently but firmly steering Bitty out of the tent. He’s bewildered and embarrassed and can’t think enough to protest, so he lets himself be shepherded into the back of his ancient blue and white van. 

He’d ripped out the backseats to make room for shelving last summer, so there’s really nowhere to sit, but it’s quiet and secluded enough that Bitty feels safe putting his head on his knees and crying for a few minutes. Jack, sitting with his back pressed against the door, keeps asking if he needs anything and Bitty just sobs harder. 

Eventually, though, it passes, and Bitty picks up his head to see _Jack Zimmermann_ smiling carefully at him. 

“Hi,” Jack says. “I’m Jack.” 

“And I’m mortified, but I’ll get over that soon,” Bitty says. “Eric Bittle, call me Bitty. I’m so sorry for ruining your lunch, Mr. Zimmermann.” 

Jack badly hides a wince. “Jack, please. You didn’t ruin anything! Honestly, it’s nice to be out of the bustle for a few minutes. Do you want to — is something wrong?” 

“No!” Bitty rushes. “No! No. Well, yes, but. It’s just. I’m a little inexperienced,” he finishes lamely. 

“Larissa mentioned that,” Jack says, brow furrowing. “First time working on a lot?” 

“First time doing anything bigger than a graduation party.” 

Jack’s eyes get wide. “Oh. Yeah, I can see how this would be an…adjustment.” 

“I’m sure it’ll get better,” Bitty says. “Just — you know. First day anxiety and all that. Although I guess you don’t really know, do you? Hockey star to TV star, you’re probably not too familiar with the jitters.” 

Something crosses Jack’s face. “You might be surprised.” 

Before Bitty can ask what that means, there’s a sudden, extremely loud crash from the direction of the house. Bitty jumps a few feet into the air and swears; Jack just chuckles and says, “Construction zone,” like that explains it as they they both scramble out of Dorothea to shouts of _all clear_ echoing around the lot. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Comes a muffled, yelling voice, and Kent’s dust-covered head pops out of a second-story window. “I found that four feet we couldn’t see on the blueprints, Zimms! Get up here, it’s wild!” 

“Secret room?!” Shitty crows from the tent. “Does our house have a secret hidden room, Parson?” 

“It’s either a panic room or a sex dungeon,” Kent calls down. “Ooh, maybe it’s both!” 

“Damnit, Parson,” yells a woman standing by the camera crew and watching playback on a rolling monitor, “Stop saying shit like that, you _know_ we have to edit it out in post.” 

+++

Bitty drags himself back to Dorothea at half-past-eight, absolutely exhausted, already thinking about everything he needs to do to get ready for tomorrow. Chowder can only help out during lunch and prep for dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays due to his class schedule, and if doing dinner clean-up himself means Bitty’s not going to get home until past 9 most nights, he needs to seriously re-work his schedule to accommodate grocery shopping time when the good stores are still open.

He’s too tired to properly startle when someone taps on the window, but he manages a muffled curse when he turns to see both Jack and Kent smiling at him. 

“Gentlemen,” Bitty yawns once he’s rolled down the window. “What can I do for you?” 

“We just wanted to say thanks again for stepping in so quickly,” Jack begins. 

“S’not like it’s a hardship,” Bitty says, well aware that his accent’s coming out more than usual. “Besides, y’all could’ve just ordered pizza.” 

Kent and Jack exchange glances. “We could’ve,” Kent agrees after a pause. “But… 

“But the crew matters to us,” Jack takes over when Kent trails off. “A lot. It’s silly, maybe, because this is only the start of our third season together, but they got us through a lot of rough times back at the beginning."

“Neither of us were really 100% back from our injuries when _Easy P-Z_ started,” Kent continues. “The crew saw a lot of stuff, _filmed_ a lot of stuff, that could’ve made them a lot of money with the right blog. Instead, they closed ranks around us and managed to put out episodes that actually make it look like we’ve kinda got our shit together.” He shrugs. “The magic of Hollywood.” 

“We’re in Massachusetts,” Bitty says dumbly, and Kent just grins. 

“See, Zimms? What’d I tell you? The _snark_ on this one.” 

“Stay on track, Kenny,” Jack says fondly. “The point, Bitty, is that if we asked the crew to eat pizza every day for the rest of the season, they’d do it. But they deserve better than that, and you can give them that. So, thank you.” 

They say goodnight and walk away, lights around the yard casting their shadows long. They’re not holding hands — from what Bitty’s seen today, they’re not big on PDA — but it’s obvious to anyone that they’re a matched set. That no matter what the world throws at them (and the world has thrown quite a bit at Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann), they’ll face it together. 

  

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 16-APR-19 | DAY 4 OF 28**

On Tuesday, Bitty is _prepared._ There’s an entire shelf full of napkins in Dorothea, the cookies for lunch’s dessert are individually wrapped and don’t contain chocolate (chocolate chips melt when left on camera equipment, who knew), there are cute little signs with ingredients lists, he enough warming dishes to leave the remains of the lunch spread at 2 for the drive back to Providence to prep dinner. 

He gets back to Shitty & Lardo’s promptly at 5, and the place is abandoned. No one in the food tent, no one in the house, no one working in the yard. Even the lights in the production trailer are off, so he heads down the street and around the corner to where a couple trailers — one for Jack and Kent, two for the crew when they're on breaks — are parked. 

He finds them there, 40-odd people sitting on blankets and lawn chairs and folding chairs, staring at the side of Jack and Kent’s trailer in dead silence. The fourth game of the Falcs-Penguins series is being projected onto a suspended bedsheet.  

First round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Right. 

Bitty loves hockey, will always love hockey, but his life got flipped on its head with this contract and he hasn’t exactly been paying attention. There’s enough tension in the air for him to gauge that it’s not going well for Falconers fans, and he keeps quiet as he creeps up to the edge of the crowd. A hand grabs his and he’s tugged down to a blanket, snuggled between Lardo and Shitty. 

“Is it—.” 

“Not looking good,” Lardo whispers back. “Falcs are down by two, less than a minute in the game.” 

“Are they —.” 

“Series is 3-0, Penguins,” Shitty says, voice low. He tucks Bitty’s head under his chin. “Falconers are about to get swept.” 

Bitty’s eyes go to Jack and Kent. They’re sitting next to each other on the other side of the group: Jack is staring at the screen, dead-eyed, and Kent has his elbows braced his knees, head down. Jack’s hand is on the back of Kent’s neck. 

The Falcs pull their goalie, but it’s no use. The final whistle blows, and the Falcs’ season ends. 

“Thanks, everyone,” Jack says, standing up. “Check in with your leads, but I think most of us are done for the day. We’ll see you all on Friday.” 

The crowd breaks up, most people stopping to offer Jack and Kent consolatory handshakes or, in Kent’s case, hugs. Kent has his phone in his hand the whole time, obviously distracted. Bitty stays with Shitty and Lardo, sucked into the disappointment. He likes the Falconers. SMH used to take team trips to their games, favoring them over the geographically-closer Bruins, and when they won the Cup during Bitty’s junior year, he was in the arena. If he has an NHL team, it’s probably the Falcs.

“I have dinner for 45 people in Dorothea,” he says absently after a few minutes, lulled by Lardo’s fingers working tiny braids into his hair. “D’you think I should set things out?” 

“I think people are heading home,” a deep voice says from above him, and Bitty blinks up at a backlit Jack. “Larissa, do you know if there’s a place nearby that’ll take the food?” 

“Lardo,” Lardo says, “is pretty sure there’s a pantry on Montgomery that’d be thrilled. C’mon, Bits, me and Shitty’ll help with the delivery.” 

Jack shakes his head. “Me and Kent will go with him. You guys only have a few nights left in this house before you can’t sleep in it for a couple weeks, and it’ll be good for us to have something to do.” 

Kent disappears into the trailer, Lardo and Shitty head down the street, and Bitty helps Jack stack folding chairs and fold blankets. It’s quiet in this corner of the neighborhood, trees older than the country hanging heavy overhead and trying their best to shake off the last bits of winter. 

“We should’ve been there,” Jack says, taking the corners of another blanket from Bitty and shaking it out to straighten the edges. “We thought. We didn’t realize this would be their last game.” 

“I’m sure they know you would’ve been there if you could’ve,” Bitty says gently. He brushes a wrinkle out of the blanket, picks up the bottom corners to make a new fold. “Are you still close with many of the guys on the team?” 

“A few. It was tough, for awhile. After our injuries. Kenny’s been better at staying in touch.” 

Bitty hums. “Sara mentioned that they come visit the lot pretty often. Sounds like they still care about both of you quite a bit.” 

Jack blinks, smiles, shakes his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true. I’ll run these chairs back to the main tent, can you take the bedsheet and the projector into the trailer? Grab Kenny, I’ll meet you guys at your van.” 

Bitty watches Jack literally jog around the corners with armfuls of chairs — what an odd man — then pokes his head into the trailer. “Kent?” 

Kent is leaning against what passes for a kitchen table in the tiny trailer, phone pressed to his ear. He looks up at Bitty’s entrance, holds up a finger, and says something in a language that definitely isn’t English. 

Bitty struggles to get the door open with his hands full, and Kent tucks the phone against his shoulder to help. He tosses the bedsheet toward the back of the trailer and gestures for Bitty to put the projector on the table. He says something else, maybe a few sentences strung together, and Bitty think it’s maybe Russian. 

“Я тебя очень люблю,” Kent says quietly, and hangs up. “Hey. Sorry about that. You need something?” 

“Jack volunteered you to help us take tonight’s dinner to a food pantry,” Bitty says. “Everything okay?” 

Kent smiles, a tiny thing, and looks down at the phone in his hand. “Yeah. I mean, no, things are pretty shitty for the team right now, but they’ll be all right. Can’t win it every year.” 

“I suppose not,” Bitty agrees. “You speak Russian?” 

Kent tucks his phone into his pocket with a shrug. “NHL, you pick up a little bit in a lot of languages.” 

Bitty follow Kent out of the trailer, deciding not to mention that what he overheard didn’t sound like a “little bit” at all. 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 19-APR-19 | DAY 5 OF 28**

Bitty spends his “weekend” — a Wednesday and Thursday off, TV shooting schedules are bizarre — drafting dozens of versions of menus and doing as much food prep in advance as he can. He heads up to Samwell Thursday afternoon, catches an SMH home victory, and makes three pies at the Haus. He talks to his parents. He heads into his next work week (a Friday - Monday string) feeling relaxed and confident. 

It lasts for all of four minutes. 

He and Chowder are making their final unloading trip to Dorothea when the heavens open. They dash the last few yards, throw open the back doors, and squat inside, looking out at the torrential downpour that’d come from absolutely nowhere. 

“It wasn’t supposed to rain today,” Bitty says. The rolling cart they’d abandoned at the end of Shitty and Lardo’s driveway drifts to a gentle stop against the curb. 

Chowder shakes water out of his hair. “Weren’t they supposed to be tearing the roof off? What do they do when it rains?” 

Bitty’s walkie-talkie crackles to life, and he tugs the clip free from his pocket. Most of the production crew’s walkies have wired earpieces with mics, but no one needs Bitty to be that accessible, so he’s got the good old-fashioned kind that makes him feel even more like an inexperienced kid. He’s also only got access to two channels: 2, which is the all-crew broadcast, and 15, which Sara, Jack, and Kent can use to call Bitty directly. No one’s needed 15 yet, but Bitty likes the idea that some day there might be a catering emergency that only Bitty can fix, _STAT_. 

“Sara to crew,” Sara says. “Inclement weather delay, you know the drill. Report to your leads, wrap up equipment that can’t get wet. Wait it out in the tent or trailers, no ETA on when we’ll be rolling again.” 

The rain is coming down in heavy, rapid-fire sheets, but Bitty and Chowder can just make out the frenzy of activity in and around the house. Anything that fits in a garbage bag gets put in a garbage bag, anything that doesn’t gets wrapped in a tarp and duct-taped within an inch of its life. The wind picks up, and there’s a rumble not too far away that shakes through Dorothea’s floor into Bitty’s shoes. 

“Who’s our team lead?” Chowder asks. 

“I have no earthly idea,” Bitty says. Sara, maybe, but it seems like there should be a couple additional levels between Bitty and the show’s Production Manager. 

“Need a hand?” Jack is framed between Dorothea’s doors, wearing an oversized, bright red poncho and absolutely soaked from mid-thigh down. 

“Jack!” Chowder and Bitty scramble backwards to make room for Jack to take shelter in Dorothea, but he waves them off.

“Wouldn’t do me any good at this point,” he says. “If I bring your cart over here, can you load it? I’ll come back and move it to the tent in a few minutes after I check in with everyone, see if I can borrow umbrellas from someone to get you two to the tent, too.” 

Bitty sighs. “No sense hiding from a storm that's madder than a sack of wet cats, I suppose. Folks’ll be damp and cold, don’t need to make them wait any longer for hot food than necessary. C’mon, Chowder.” 

Bitty hops out of Dorothea onto the road and is immediately drenched. Jack makes a squawking sound several octaves higher than Bitty would’ve thought possible; he unzips his poncho, snags Bitty’s arm, and draws in him tight against his chest before wrapping the poncho around the both of them the best he can. 

Bitty’s nose is pressed right up against Jack’s chest. He turns his head to the side to breathe, and that’s no good, either — now all he can smell is _Jack_. 

“Why did you do that?” Jack says, tucking Bitty in tighter. “My plan —.” 

Bitty rolls his eyes, although Jack can’t see it. “Didn’t you hear me? We were going to get wet sooner or later.”  

“You’ll catch a cold,” Jack protests.

"Mr. Zimmermann,  we work outside in Massachusetts and it’s the middle of April. We’re _all_ going to catch colds, and the least I can do is make sure there’s warm soup to help keep the worst of it away. Chowder, we brought all that fresh ginger, right?” Bitty squirms around in Jack’s arms — _how is this happening_ — to peek at Chowder, who’s holding up two handfuls of ginger root. “Wonderful. We can grate that into the butternut squash bisque, that’ll help, too.” 

Bitty tries to take a step back towards Dorothea, but Jack’s still holding on, so he rebounds with his back to Jack’s chest. Everything about Jack is just very…firm. And nicely-scented.  

The rumble sounds again, closer this time than before. 

“Am I interrupting something?” A voice calls, and Jack and Bitty spring apart to see Kent arriving with the rolling cart, forearms braced on the handle and an amused look on his face. Unlike Jack, Kent is wearing absolutely no protective gear: he’s in his typical durable-looking slim-cut pants and a flannel over a t-shirt. 

“Excellent timing,” Bitty recovers. He blinks rainwater out of his eyes, decides that’s a losing battle, and forges ahead. “Let’s load the chafing dishes first, Chowder, and we’ll have to come back for the bread with a tarp or something.” 

+++

“You’re shivering,” Potter points out. Potter is _Easy_ ’s DP, which Bitty is pretty sure stands for Director of Photography even though Potter mostly just follows Jack and Kent around with a video camera in a weird exoskeleton-like chest harness strapped to their body. Potter is also really big into stating the obvious.  

“I hadn’t noticed,” Bitty says glibly. It’s nearly 1PM and the rain is finally starting let up a little, and everyone who isn’t napping in their cars or watching TV in the trailers is gathered in the tent playing cards. Chowder got a ride from someone back to Samwell (it’s only twenty minutes from where they are in Wellesley) and most everyone’s changed into dry clothes from cars or trailers. Rain delays are a common occurrence this early in spring, Bitty’s come to understand. Everyone knows to bring a spare outfit. 

Everyone, that is, besides Bitty. Bitty isn’t soaked to the skin any more, but he’s still pretty damp, and the temperature’s dropped about 20 degrees since the storm started. 

“Why don’t you go change? I’ll make sure the Sterno doesn’t explode or whatever it is you’re worried about.” 

“Didn’t think to bring extra clothes,” Bitty says, trying not to let his teeth chatter. “The forecast didn’t call for rain.” 

Potter rolls their eyes. “What, and you think none of us have extra-extras?” They squint at Bitty, head tilted. “Ryan’s stuff would fit you, I think, but they’ve got him sorting through B-roll. Parse!” 

“Oh, no,” Bitty says quickly. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience —.” 

Kent, a few tables over, tips his chair onto its back legs. “‘Sup?”

“Bitty’s going to freeze to death if someone doesn’t let him borrow dry clothes, that’s what’s up.” 

Kent practically falls out of his chair in his haste to get up. “What? Shit, why didn’t you say anything?” He thrust a big umbrella into Bitty’s hand and tows him out of the tent, towards the trailers. 

The rain is loud against the umbrella, and they have to keep a good four feet apart so they don’t bump into each other. The walk to the trailers is only about a minute long, Bitty knows, but it feels longer. 

“Honey, we’re home,” Kent calls out once they’ve shaken excess water off their umbrellas and carefully edged into Jack and Kent’s trailer.

Jack, reclining on the couch with one hand behind his head and the other holding up a book, seems unsurprised to see them. “Did Sara call it?” 

“Nah. Looks like we might get a break in a weather pretty soon.” Kent squeezes through to the minuscule bedroom, burying his upper body in a closet of some sort. “Bitty needs dry clothes.”

Jack blinks at Bitty. “You haven’t changed yet?” 

Bitty is cold, wet, tired, and tired of explaining this. “I did, actually. Decided to change into new clothes that are also wet. Just for the fun of it.” 

Jack flushes. “I just meant —.” 

“Pants!” Kent calls, victorious. He tosses a pair of jeans in Bitty’s direction. “I’ve only got a few inches on you, so probably just cuff ‘em once and you’ll be good. Belt, boxers, socks…eh, not sure about shoes. Want to just take these slides and socks, wear your shoes back to the tent, and change shoes there? Not sure I have a clean shirt, though. Zimms?” 

“Yeah.” Jack rolls off the bed, reaches over Kent’s head, and pulls something blue and white from a shelf. 

It’s a Falconers jersey. _Jack’s_ Falconers jersey, his name and number on the back and the A on the front. Not a full game sweater, but something made to be softer. Wearable. 

Kent snorts. “If this is you calling dibs, Zimms, we may need to have a talk about the _forsaking all others_ part of our vows.” 

Jack shoves at Kent, smiling, and Kent shoves back, and then they’re wrestling each other into the couch and Bitty’s just standing there with his arms full of borrowed clothing. 

“You can change in the bedroom — fuck _off_ , Zimms, not the ears,” Kent manages. 

“Door pulls out of the thing by the closet,” Jack adds, going for Kent’s ear with his pinky again. 

+++

Kent and Jack accompany Bitty back to the tent, Bitty with Kent’s socks and sandals tucked under his elbow. The rain’s nearly stopped and people are starting to mill around again, improvising walkways across the soaked lawn by repurposing tarps, and that’s probably the only thing that saves a couple people from getting hurt when the far side of the tent capsizes under the weight of pooled water. 

“Tova to crew, safety checks,” all the walkies echo, followed by a round of _All clear_ ’s. 

Jack and Kent take off to check in with people, and Bitty just watches in horror as the rest of the tent goes over. Stakes are slowly pulled out of the ground, poles are tipped to precarious angles. Bitty’s tables and equipment are, miraculously, unharmed. 

Potter sidles up next to Bitty. “Sterno’s still lit. I’m reliable like that.” 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 21-APR-19 | DAY 7 OF 28**

There’s no tent on Saturday, but the weather’s mild enough for Bitty’s lunch and dinner services to happen in the open air. The new tent is up by the time Bitty arrives on Sunday, but he barely spends at time in it — this is the last full day of deconstruction on the house, and he and Shitty and Lardo post up on the sidewalk to watch the crew use sledgehammers and jackhammers and buzzsaws to tear the house down to its bare bones. 

They haven’t even owned the place for six months, but Shitty still gets misty-eyed when the front door comes off its hinges. 

“That door is _ugly_ , Shits,” Lardo says. “We’ve both hated it since we moved in.” 

“But it’s _our_ door,” Shitty protests. “It’s our door, from our first house. What if this was a mistake?” 

“Little late for that,” Bitty says, as Kent’s team carefully lowers another big chunk of siding to the ground. Kent is at least wearing a harness today, although he seems to be pretty brazen about unclipping and reclipping as he moves across the roof and around the walls. If any of his team members so much as touches their own clips without a secondary clip already attached to a new anchor point, though, Kent swears up a blue streak and sends them to the ground for a talk with Tova. It only happens a few times, because Kent’s team are professionals, but it’s noticeable when it does. 

“Do you think he’s always like that?” Bitty muses, watching Kent scold someone. 

“I’ve been here since halfway through the first season.” Cho, one of the producers, has been sitting with them while waiting for her shift to start. “He’s always like that. Watched him take a nail from a nail gun through the hand once because he was shoving someone out of the line of fire from an idiot intern.”  

+++

By the time Bitty gets back from prepping dinner in his rented Providence kitchen, Ransom and Holster are camped out on the sidewalk next to Shitty and Lardo’s abandoned chairs. Bitty collects hugs from both after unpacking — these _boys_ , they only live an hour away and yet Bitty has only seen them a few times since his graduation — and nods to the chairs. “Filming something?” 

“Went back to their hotel, Lardo said she wanted to take a break and grab a shower,” Ransom says. “They’ll be back a little later.” 

“Have you seen their hotel?” Holster says. “Nice digs.” 

“Jack said this is the first time the renovations have been extensive enough that the homeowners have had to live somewhere else during filming,” Bitty explains. “The show’s covering their expenses. C’mon, you two can help me put dinner together.” 

“Nice of them,” Ransom says, following obediently. “To cover expenses, I mean. The renovation’s got to be costing Shitty and Lards a fortune.” 

“They’re not paying for it, actually. Holster, can you grab those trays? During the normal season, yeah, the renovation’s done on a budget financed by the homeowners, but not for this special. It was like a contest; Jack and Kent picked this place based on a video submission Shitty put together. They aren’t taking salaries for this episode — Jack and Kent, I mean — so that’s where the money comes from. Although they aren’t expecting to use all of that money, so whatever’s left will get donated to a charity that Shitty and Lardo pick.” 

Holster and Ransom exchange a glance. Holster asks, “Isn’t this, like, your fourth day working here?” 

“Fifth, actually,” Bitty says, transferring salad dressing into smaller containers. “Why?” 

“Seems like you know a lot about what’s going on. A lot about _Jack_ and _Kent_ , specifically.” 

“ _Jack_ and _Kent_ ,” Bitty echoes, mimicking Holster's ennunciation. “What d’you mean by that?” 

“Just that they’re former professional hockey players, and now you’re on first-name terms. We met them earlier, and they’re chill, but they’re married, Bits,” Ransom says carefully. “To each other.” 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” Bitty twists his head around to make sure there’s no one in earshot. “I’m well aware of that. I’m not — _they’re_ not — look. This is my first major contract. And it’s only through the end of filming this episode, but if they decide to extend me even just for the rest of the season, do you understand what that would mean for me? For IBC? Yes, Jack is objectively attractive, and _yes_ , he’s extremely likeable, but we’re coworkers who will _maybe_ be friends and that is it.” 

Another look is traded. “I’d just like to point out that by the end of that, you were talking about Jack Zimmermann and Jack Zimmermann only,” Holster says.  

Bitty groans and throws a ball of Saran wrap at him. 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 27-APR-19 | DAY 12 OF 28**

The next work week (Wednesday - Saturday this time) flies by. The house’s frame and foundation get shored up, drywall gets hung, new wiring and plumbing and tubing get run everywhere. Bitty bakes for four crew birthdays and sends Tony home with three dozen apple turnovers for his daughter’s engagement party. Terry “Snowy” Snowden, the Falc’s starting goalie, turns up on Friday and mopes in a corner until Jack forces him to paint baseboards. The job is still stressful and Bitty more or less passes out in his bed most nights, but he’s finding his rhythm and feels like he’s been part of the crew for way longer than two weeks.

Saturday is heralded by the arrival of two dozen kids under the age of ten, all wearing tiny Falconers jerseys and all, in Bitty’s professional opinion, having eaten entirely too much sugar at breakfast. 

“This is both cute and horrifying,” Bitty says, keeping an eye on the lot through the pulled-back flaps of the tent so he knows when to start heating up the griddles. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much energy in my life.” 

“Are you talking about the kids, Kent, or Tater?” Jack laughs. He hands Bitty a little platter of freshly-sliced cheese.

Kent’s got the Junior Falcs set up at mini workstations throughout the yard, all working diligently with screwdrivers or rubber mallets or paintbrushes and supervised by Tova. Alexei Mashkov, known to the Falconers (and, apparently, the _Easy P-Z_ crew) as “Tater,” is overseeing the assembly of what appears to be a series of birdhouses. There’s a lot of happy yelling involved whenever someone finishes a project, and it’s not always from one of the elementary schoolers. 

“All of the above,” Bitty says. “You and Kent are so different. How’d you — you know. How?” 

“We met in Juniors,” Jack says, fondly watching Kent explain something to one of the mini St. Martins. “It’s — there’s really no way to talk about all of this without sounding arrogant and pretentious, I’m sorry — it’s hard to explain that type of pressure, that atmosphere. We were just teenagers, children, really, and all we’d been told for as long as we could remember was how good we were, how lucky we were to be talented, how hard we needed to work.” 

Jack pauses, frowns. “It was different for each of us, me with my dad and Kent with his own situation, but we got thrown into the same environment and for the first time, I had someone to talk to who knew what it was like. No matter how bad it got, we had each other. I went to the Aces, he went to the Habs, but looking back those couple years are just a pause, like we were waiting for the universe to put us back together.” 

“The universe, in this case, being Georgia Martin.” 

Jack bursts out a little laugh, short and honest. “You could say that. The trade was. Well. I thought I’d be in Vegas for a lot longer than three and a half seasons. We’d won a Cup, I got the C. But everything just fell back into place when I came to the Falcs.” 

“And you came out two years later,” Bitty says quietly. “I was at Samwell, about to start my Junior year. I was out to the team, but not everyone in my life. Not… I wasn’t sure I had the guts. But I watched you and Kent make that announcement, watched your team rally around you, watched you fight through the first couple games after. Watched you win the Cup. I should thank you, I suppose. For helping me be brave.” 

Jack shifts, hands over more cheese. “I wish I could say that’s why we did it, to help other people feel more comfortable. I think that’s part of why Kenny did it. Most of it, though, at least for me, was selfish. We were young and untouchable and I’d spent so long being the _first_ : First in the draft, first Cup in Aces’ history, youngest captain until McDavid. I wanted to keep being first. Being the first openly queer players in the NHL, it appealed to the side of me that’s never been able to see life as anything but a challenge. And then winning a _Cup_ as the first team with openly queer players, well.” Jack’s smile is sharp, but he doesn’t continue. 

“So,” Bitty prompts, “What happened? I know the public story, of course, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to —.” 

“Kent shattered his knee,” Jack cuts in. “Although. When I say it like that, it sounds like I’m blaming him, or incapable of living without him, or like that’s what set off some chain of events, and none of that’s true.” He clears his throat. “I’d been living with — and doing a horrible, absolutely _horrible_ job of handling — depression and anxiety for a long time, probably since Juniors. I think I got through my time on the Aces on adrenaline alone, but then when Kent’s knee went?”  

Jack is silent for a long moment, and Bitty reels at little as his hands automatically assemble grilled cheeses. He’s never heard or read Jack talking about _any_ of this. His retirement press all cited an “upper body injury,” which everyone assumed were repeat concussions. But here he is, talking frankly — if haltingly —about mental illness. 

Across the lot, Kent seems to feel Jack’s eyes on him and looks up, giving a little wave. They wave back.

“I’d seen career-ending injuries before,” Jack continues softly. “It’s professional hockey, it happens. I knew right away what it was, knew he’d never play again the way he did. And I think the idea of not having him there with me, on my wing — it was a catalyst. I kept it together enough to finish the Cup run, but that summer, I spiraled. Pulled away from my family and friends, started relying too heavily on medication. On my Cup Day, we were all out drinking and I couldn’t remember if I’d taken my meds or not, so I took another dose. And another, and another.”  

Bitty can barely breathe.

Jack clears his throat. “I’m still not sure if it was accidental or a subconscious suicide attempt. My therapist and I talk about that a lot. Probably some of both. I woke up in the hospital, and I knew that I couldn’t keep playing. Knew that if I kept going, I’d wind up dead. So, I stopped. And it was awful for a long time; not having my schedule defined by the hockey season, the rhythm of that life, just felt wrong. Going to games to support the team was really tough at the beginning. But this life, what we have now — I never really thought I’d have anything outside of hockey that made me worthwhile, you know?” 

“That might be the saddest thing you’ve said yet,” Bitty interjects softly. 

Jack hums to himself. “Yeah, maybe. But if I woke up tomorrow and knew, without a doubt, that there were no more bad thoughts in my head and never would be again, and Kenny’s knee was good as new…I don’t know if I’d go back to hockey. I’ll always love it and I’ll always miss it, but that’s not who I am anymore. Not all of who I am, anyway.” 

+++

“Excuse me, Mr. Bittle?” 

There’s a tiny hand on his elbow. Bitty carefully sets down the knife he’s holding and turns toward one of the Junior Falcs, a little girl in a Robinson jersey. “Hi there.” 

She wrings her fingers together and looks up at him with these _shockingly_ deep brown eyes. “My name is Maylee and I’m eight years old and I watch your videos with my mom and sometimes we bake things but when we tried to make the blondies with the pecans they didn’t turn out right and Mr. Zimmermann said that maybe if I asked really nice you would maybe let me help with dessert so I could learn?”

Bitty has to replay all of that in his head, because it was a _lot_ of information to be delivered in one sentence, and he catches Jack’s eye over the top of Maylee’s head. Most of the Junior Falls are taking breaks or playing games now, spearheaded by Tater and Kent, respectively, but a diligent few are helping Jack test paint samples on a few different surfaces. Jack smiles at Bitty, points to Maylee, and gives him a thumbs-up. 

“Well, Miss Maylee,” Bitty says, “I won’t say no to a pair of helping hands. We’ve got to get those hands washed first, though.”  

+++

By the time Bitty’s mostly done with clean-up, he’s (A) ready to drop and (B) willing to admit to himself that he’s a little bit in love with Jack Zimmermann, which is unfortunate because Jack is (A) married and (B) kind of Bitty’s boss.

Maybe. Bitty’s still not exactly sure who his boss is, or if his boss and his lead are the same person, or if both of those people are maybe Sara, but Jack’s the one who’ll look through menu options and make suggestions when Bitty asks. Jack’s the one who asked Bitty to start prepping a late-night snack that the crew could eat cold, because they’re already behind schedule and a lot of people are working overtime. Jack’s not a showrunner, but he does have an Executive Producer credit and directs half the episodes. Then again, so does Kent, but Kent’s been pretty hands-off other than sharing a detailed Google Doc of crew birthdays and favorites (treats, colors, movies, books. It’s an extensive document, but it gives Bitty a lot of ideas). 

(Kent and Jack bicker in the comments of the document sometimes, and it’s both endearing and frustrating. Jack and one of the electricians they contract out to a lot apparently have _extremely_ strong opinions about several recent documentaries.)

So Kent’s not around much, usually deconstructing or building something in a way that makes Tova’s blood pressure rise, and Sara’s always power-walking between the Production trailer and the eight thousand other things she needs to keep an eye on, and Bitty still doesn’t have a super clear understanding on the general org structure around here, but he’s got Jack. 

And truly is a lot more to Jack Zimmermann, he’s learning, than hockey. He knew that already, of course; when Jack and Kent came out between Bitty’s sophomore and junior years, there was a _lot_ of additional footage of both men suddenly available, but it’s different to see it in person. 

Jack is a solid, steady presence — on camera, in the tent, around the lot. Jack is thoughtful and considerate. Jack is polite to a fault, although Kent brings out a dry sarcasm in Jack that sends everyone within earshot into fits of laughter. Jack is becoming a good friend to both Lardo and Shitty. Jack is quiet conversations with a crew member who’s having a rough day, and lively debates over Civil War tactics with the two runner interns who are History majors, and an endless string of _thank-you’s_ directed at Bitty and Chowder. 

Jack is also _painfully_ attractive. And it was one thing to think that about Jack when he was a distant NHL star, but it’s another thing entirely to think that about someone Bitty works with every day.  

He also works with Jack’s husband. Jack’s husband, who is welcoming and hilarious and reckless with his personal safety but unyielding about keeping the rest of the crew safe. Kent is snap decisions and quick to action and wears his entire heart on his sleeve. 

Even if there were some version of the universe in which Jack would be interested in Bitty, and even if Bitty were the type of person to get involved with a married man, he couldn’t do that to Kent. And he wouldn’t be interested in Jack if Jack were the type of person to do that to Kent. 

He’s known these people for _two weeks._ He can’t believe he’s even thinking about any of this. 

“Hey, Bitty. Everyone who’s still here is going to grab a beer at the bar over on Senator.” 

Bitty smiles, just a reflexive response to Jack being nearby. “Okay. I’ll pack things up here, then. See you Tuesday?” 

Jack chuckles. “I meant that we’re going to grab a beer, and we’d like you to come, too.” 

“Oh! Well I, uh, it’s a bit of a drive home for me, but I suppose it’s early enough. Who all’s going?” 

Jack stretches his arms overhead in a yawn; Bitty consciously turns back to loading empty trays onto a cart. “Tony, Potter, Mia, Raquel. Ricardo. I think Shitty and Lardo.” 

“No Kent?”  

“He’s hanging out with a friend, might join us later. You coming?”  

+++

“I have a crush on a married man,” Bitty moans. “I’m going to hell.”

Shitty pushes a half-empty pie tin closer to his hand. They got back to Shitty and Lardo’s hotel over an hour ago, just the three of them, and Bitty is somehow the only one who’s going to be hungover tomorrow. “Cheer up, Bits. Could be worse.” 

“How? How could it worse?” 

Lardo brushes some crumbs out of Bitty’s hair. “Could have crushes on both of them.”

“Ugh.” Bitty rolls onto his back. “Neither of you is any help. And Kent is — no. He’s great, but not in that way. But _Jack_. But no! He’s married!” 

“It’s just a crush,” Lardo says. “It’s harmless.” 

“Keep your hands, tongue, and dick to yourself, and you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Shitty advises. 

Simple enough. In theory.

  

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 01-MAY–19 | DAY 14 OF 28**

Someone usually drops Chowder off on the days that he’s helping Bitty, so Bitty’s pretty used to waving at Foxtrot or River or, once, Coach Hall as they drive away, but on Wednesday Dex kills the engine in his green pickup and hops out of the truck right along with Chowder. 

“Dex!” Bitty thrusts a vat of sweet tea into Dex’s arms. “You’re sticking around?” 

Dex settles the tea against his hips and jerks his chin at Chowder to stack something on top. “Had my last final last night, and if I stayed in the Haus all day I probably would’ve garroted Nursey. He still has to defend his thesis tomorrow so he’s very. Poetic.” 

“Even more than normal,” Chowder agrees. “I think even Hops is getting annoyed.” 

“Well I’m happy to have the help, of course,” Bitty says, “But I don’t really have too much to do for lunch today. You could pull chicken, I suppose.” 

“Oh,” Chowder says. “Actually —.” 

“You!” Kent pops out of somewhere, staring at Dex for a second before looking at Chowder. “This is him, right? You said tall, freckly ginger.” 

“This is him,” Chowder confirms. “Dex, this is —.” 

“Kent Parson,” Dex finishes, his shoulders sitting a little stiff with nerves. “I play college hockey, Chowder, I know who he is.” 

“You’re a mechanical engineer,” Kent says. In another tone of voice, it could’ve been a friendly question. “I need you to come look at the bump out we’re putting in Lardo’s art studio.” 

“I haven’t actually graduated yet,” Dex says, looking a little alarmed. “I don’t graduate until next year, it’s a five-year joint bachelor’s-master’s program.” 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Kent says, flapping his hands around. There’s a bandage wrapped around his left palm, because he’s Kent. “Our contractor got delayed on another job for two days and I just need you to tell me what’s load-bearing and what isn’t so I know if I need to change the plan.” 

“Mechanical engineering and structural engineering are not the same thing,” Dex says. “Parson. I’m not certified, I can’t —.” 

“Just come look!” Kent seizes Dex’s elbow and tows him across the yard, nearly running into Raquel and Mia. 

“I’m suddenly not sure,” Chowder says, watching Kent trip over a pile of lumber and use Dex as a counterweight to avoid actually falling, “if this was a good idea.”  

+++

“Of course it was a good idea!” Kent exclaims. Kent and most of the crew are taking an organized lunch break for once, waiting for Jack and Potter and Cho to get back from filming some segment about a local historical landmark and how Jack plans to tie influences from that time into the exterior of the house. There are rarely this many people eating in the tent at once, and it feels somewhat like a family holiday. “We’re white trash bros.” 

Dex, seated right next to Kent, wrinkles his nose. “I’m pretty sure that’s offensive.” 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Kent says. He starts counting on his fingers. “Raised in small towns surrounded by close-minded, bigoted assholes. Nearly missed being best friends with our respective BFF soulmates due to aforementioned bigoted assholery. Have spent years unlearning our problematic shit and understand that we have more problematic shit to unlearn.” He puts his fingers down and beams around the table. “White. Trash. Bros.” 

+++

Dex is helping Bitty get dinner ready — this part, he actually _does_ need the help for — when Jack pokes his head into the tent and says abruptly, “William Poindexter.” 

Dex doesn’t jump, because Dex doesn’t startle as a rule, but his fingers do clench up around a serving spoon. “Oh. Uh. Hi?” 

“Hi,” Jack says. “You declined the NHL Entry Draft all three years you were eligible, and now you’re turning down invitations to prospect camps?” 

Bitty freezes. He’s tried to have this conversation with Dex, too — almost everyone Bitty knows has tried to have this conversation with Dex — but he hadn’t know that part. About the invitations to prospect camps. 

Dex flushes, discomfort radiating off him. “I’m not interested in playing hockey after college.” 

“You wear the A for a team that just made it to the Frozen Four for the second time in your four years at school. You’re telling me you don’t love the game?” 

“Of course I love the game,” Dex hisses. It’s interesting, really, to watch Dex get worked up at someone other than Nursey. “But I. My family. I need a stable job. Hockey is not stable.” 

“You’re going to have a master’s in engineering by the end of next year,” Jack says. “You can be an engineer when you’re forty. You’re not one of the guys who doesn’t have an education to fall back on if he gets injured.” 

“I still have a year of school,” Dex protests. “If I don’t finish my degrees—.” 

“So finish them,” Bitty sighs. “Dex, hon, we’ve been over this. If you were offered an ELC, you could ask to defer for a year.” 

“I’ve already played four years at Samwell,” Dex says. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to train —.” 

“William J. Poindexter, I _know_ you are not bringing up a little thing like _training logistics_ as an obstacle that me and Jack Zimmermann can’t figure a way around.” 

Jack softens a little and smiles, the first emotion he’s shown since walking into the tent. “Look. There are very, very few people in the world with the talent, drive, and luck to get the chance you’ve got right now. If you genuinely don’t want it, that’s fine. But don’t throw it away because you’re scared of what comes next, or because you feel obligated to be a responsible adult.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” Dex says. “I already turned down the invitations.” 

“One of the teams you turned down was the Falcs.” Jack smiles a little wider. “I still know some people over there. I can make a phone call, if you want. And once word gets out about the Falcs, well, you know how hockey media is.” 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | DAY 15 OF 28**  

Mia asks Bitty to run dinner to Jack and Kent in their trailer on Thursday, and it looks like a tiny tornado ran through the place. Bitty’s been in here a few times before, and it’s always very clear who spends time where: The neat, organized couch and table are Jack’s domain, and the haphazard bedroom area is Kent’s. 

Today, everything’s been rearranged into a— 

“Murder board,” Kent says proudly, and Jack says, “Stop calling it that,” and Bitty says, “Oh my.”  

“We’ve never done a project this in-depth,” Jack explains. He takes the plates from Bitty and continues, “We planned out the details, we built in buffer time, we had the construction and production leads all weigh in. Twenty-eight days was supposed to be fine.” 

Bitty picks his way around a knocked-over stack of blueprints and two scale models to perch on the arm of the couch. The entire west wall of the trailer is plastered with, well, everything. It’s like Pinterest boards for architecture, interior design, geography, and zoning exploded.  

“We’re behind schedule?”  

“We’ve been behind schedule since before you even started working here,” Kent says. “Then the rain, and the mold, and that thing with the HOA.”  

“Network execs will be here Sunday and Monday,” Jack adds. “They weren’t thrilled about the idea of us trying this special to begin with, we pitched it at a bad time to be asking favors, and now we’re, what? A full day behind? Day and a quarter? Greg and Matilda won’t be impressed.”  

“What happens if we’re not done by May 18th?” The day is burned into Bitty’s brain: May 18th, the last day of his contract. 16 calendar days from now, 13 filming days. 

“Fucks the schedule for the whole rest of the season, that’s what happens.” Kent groans and collapses onto the couch. “We’ve already got timetables for the next six locations. If we’re late here, we’re late everywhere. There’re union rules about how many days we can shoot in a row. I’m a union guy, don’t get me wrong, but just. Fuck.” 

Bitty doesn’t know what to say. He wants to help, he’d like to help, but he doesn’t know how.

Jack and Kent glare at the wall a little bit more, chewing balefully, then Kent swallows his last bite, burps loudly, and stands. “We’re not solving anything tonight. Let’s go figure out what the fuck we’re doing with the first floor bathroom.” 

He storms out of the trailer abruptly, leaving Jack and Bitty to wince as the door slams behind him. There’s a picture hanging right by the door of Kent and Jack facing off against each other when Kent was on the Habs and Jack was on the Aces; it swings a few times.  

“He was a professional hockey player,” Bitty says into the silence. “How’s he this bad at handling stress?” 

“One,” Jack says, finishing his own dinner and carefully stacking his plate on top of Kent’s, “Hockey players are creature of habit. This isn’t a type of stress he’s used to. Two, he, uh. He was expecting a visit from someone he cares about, but they decided to extend a trip they’re on for a little longer. He’s disappointed.” 

“Oh. That must be hard.” Bitty wishes he knew what else to say. “Is there anything I can do to help with the schedule?” 

Jack smiles. “It’s kind of you to offer, Bits, but I think Kenny and me have to figure this one out on our own. C’mon, let’s head back before Kent decides to move another gas line.” 

Bitty walks next to Jack in companionable quiet, hearing _Bits_ in Jack’s gentle baritone over and over. Shitty calls him Bits, Holster and Ransom call him Bits, even Whiskey started calling him Bits once they got past the unfortunate tension.  

It sounds different coming from Jack. 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 03-MAY–19 | DAY 16 OF 28**

Friday is the end of the _Easy_ work week for once, and Bitty’s looking forward to spending the weekend at Samwell celebrating Chowder and Nursey’s graduations. It’s barely eight o’clock and he’s nearly finished loading Dorothea, which means he has plenty of time to make it to Samwell for Dex, Chowder, and Nursey kissing the ice — 

— There are two former NHL All-Stars having a slap fight against the side of his van. Jack gets Kent in a headlock and messes up his hair; Kent breaks free and hisses something Bitty can’t make out while trying worm his fingers into Jack’s armpits. 

“Fine, fine, _stop it,_ Kenny— we rented you a kitchen,” Jack finally says. 

Kent gives him serious side-eye and sets about fixing his hair in a huff. “ _We_ did not do anything. This was entirely Zimms’ bright idea, so if this is overstepping because _this is definitely overstepping, Zimmermann, Jesus,_ I am absolutely not to blame.” 

Bitty sits down on Dorothea’s bumper. “You. You what?” 

“It’s logical!” Jack blurts. “You’ve been driving back to Providence to make dinner every day, and that’s almost an hour one way, and you said you didn’t have enough time to get groceries, and I passed a place in Framingham that had a commercial kitchen for rent and so. I. Rented it.” 

“You rented me a commercial kitchen,” Bitty says faintly, and Kent suddenly decides that now is a great time to be anywhere else.  

“Just for a month!” Jack insists. “We’re here for another two weeks, and the next location’s in Marlborough, you needed somewhere more central to more of our locations than Providence, but it’s only a month to start and if you don’t like it, there’s probably something in Worcester that —.” 

“The next location?” 

“Right, this ranch outside —.” Jack’s face goes blank. “Oh. Are you not staying with the show after this?” 

“Am I. Am I _invited_ to stay with the show?” Bitty chokes out. He knows that _invited_ isn’t the right word, and there’s a clause in his contract about potentially being offered extensions after filming for this episode wraps, but no one’s said anything and surely someone would have brought it up if, if —

Jack leans forward and snags Eric’s walkie-talkie off Dorothea’s bumper, twisting it to channel 1. “Jack for Sara. We’re extending IBC’s contract through the end of the season, right?” 

There’s a tense few seconds of quiet, then, “Pretty sure there’d be a mutiny if we didn’t. Paperwork’s set to go out on Monday.” 

Jack looks at Bitty with victory in his eyes, and Bitty — 

Jack is married. Jack is _married._

“Do you want to come to Samwell tomorrow?” He blurts. 

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Your school?” 

“It’s a bunch of ours’,” Bitty says. “Me and Shitty and Lardo, and Chowder, and Dex, and d’you remember Ransom and Holster? Chowder and Dex’s linemate, Nursey, are graduating tomorrow, and there’ll be a party at the Haus later.” 

“The Samwell Men’s Hockey Haus,” Jack says, clarity dawning on his face. “Shitty’s told me stories.” 

“It won’t be much,” Bitty says, suddenly mortified that he even brought it up. This is _Jack Zimmermann_ , he’s not going to want to come to a college house party. Even less to a Haus party, where he’s likely to step through a floorboard or something. “It’s just kind of a tradition, you know, and you’re sort of friends with so many of us now.” 

Jack’s lip twitches. “Only _sort of_?” 

“Oh hush, you know what I mean,” Bitty says. 

+++

Jack brings Kent, because Kent is his husband. Christ almighty, Bitty needs to get himself under control. 

“Oh my god,” Kent says, looking at porch Dex rebuilt last year. 

“Oh my god,” says Tango, looking at Kent Parson. 

“Oh my god,” Kent says, looking at the support struts Dex put up in the basement when the floor started creaking too much. 

“Oh my god,” says a girl Bitty doesn’t recognize, looking at Kent Parson. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Kent says, watching Dex break open his toolbox in a middle of party to fix a chair that some lax bro friend of Whiskey’s boyfriend accidentally kicked down the stairs. “Zimms. We have to hire him.” 

Jack, looking remarkably comfortable with a shirtless Shitty as his beer pong partner, says, “Who?” 

“ _Dex_. He’s some sort of handyman wizard. Handyman Gandalf. Handalf? Gandyman? Anyway, he can help with so many things and you _know_ we’re behind schedule.” 

“I’m sure he has summer plans, Kenny.” 

“He doesn’t!” Chowder appears at the side of the table, Farmer not far behind. “His internship fell through a couple weeks ago. He was going to work at his uncle’s shop again, but I’m sure he’d be interested.” 

Kent glares at him. “ _You_. You set this up. You set _me_ up to fall into handyman love with the tall, freckly ginger.” 

Chowder shrugs, grins. “Wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle, Parse.”

Kent glares harder. The effect, Bitty muses as he sinks another cup for Jack and Shitty to drink, is rather ruined by Kent’s cowlick. “You used to think I was cool.” 

“And then I _met you_ ,” Chowder says, getting a snort of laughter and a fist-bump from Farmer. 

God, Bitty’s so single that it hurts. 

+++

“There aren’t even any pictures from your wedding,” the girl pouts. She’s a volleyball friend of Farmer’s — Tracy? Stacy? 

 Kent shrugs, cracking the lid on a water bottle. “Courtroom ceremony. We weren’t even in suits, not much to take pictures of.” 

“Could do a vow renewal thing,” Ransom offers. “Throw the big party you didn’t get to have because wasn’t it, like, the middle of your season?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Kent says, eyes darting to the living room where Jack is debating something with Nursey’s fine arts friends. “Maybe. We haven’t really talked about anything like that. The show keeps us pretty busy, you know?” 

“Ooh, when’s your anniversary?” Bitty asks, because he’s _trying._ “I remember the news came out right after you won the Cup, but when’s your actual anniversary? Did we miss it? I can bake something!” 

“April,” Kent says. “Or, uh. March? I dunno, man, you know what a hockey season’s like. Dates don’t matter unless they’re game days.” 

 +++

“I think I understand you better now,” Jack says. They’re in the backyard, overseeing some of the Waffles trying to get a fire going so they can roast marshmallows. “All of you. Now that I’ve seen what this place is like, and seen all of you together here.” 

“We’re a team,” Bitty says. “We’ll always be a team. You know what that’s like.”  

“I don’t know that I do, actually.” Jack takes a long drink from his beer. “When I was college-aged, I was on the Aces. And looking back, now, I can see how hard they tried. Management, the front office, the team. But I was…”  

Bitty stays quiet, sensing that he’ll break whatever sense of comfort is letting Jack talk about this if he speaks. 

“I was supposed to save the franchise,” Jack finally continues. “And in some ways, I did, but in a lot of ways, I didn’t. I was the captain, but I didn’t know how to build a team around me. Don’t think I knew how to care enough about other people to do that, maybe. I thought I had to carry it all myself, and all that ended up doing was running me and my A’s and everyone else into the ground. When I got traded, I wasn’t leaving much behind in terms of. Relationships.” 

“And the Falcs?” Bitty prompts, cautious. 

“Better,” Jack admits. “A lot better. I was getting help for the first time, and I had Kenny back, and I think that if everything that happened hadn’t happened, we would’ve gotten there. Team as family. But Kent got hurt, and we retired. And I’m lucky that the friendships I was starting to build when we left — Tater, Marty, Thirdy, Snowy — I’ve been able to hang on to those. But I don’t think I’ve ever had…this.” He waves a nebulous hand at the Haus.  

Bitty blinks. “What about the crew?” 

“What?” 

“The _Easy P-Z_ crew. You and Kent told me on my first day how much they mean to you guys, how much they’ve cared about you. Sara, Tony, Tova, Potter, Ryan, Cho. Aren’t they family, in a way?” 

Jack lets out this incredulous little laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you might have me there, Bits.” 

+++

There’s no way the Reading Room will support everyone’s weight, so Ransom, Holster, Nursey, and Chowder hang halfway out the window. Bitty, Lardo, Shitty, and Dex sit on the roof. The party continues on the ground floor, some of the revelers now spilled out onto the lawn, but up here, it’s quiet. 

Bitty used to wonder, back when he lived here, if he would ever find a place that felt as much like a home as the Haus. He realized towards the end of his senior year, when Lardo and Holster and Ransom had moved out, that four walls and a roof don’t make something a home; a family does. He was upset about it then, thinking that if he never had this group of people together again, he might never feel at home.  

Now, after talking with Jack, he thinks he was wrong both times. Family does make a home, but that means that anywhere can be home. Shitty and Lardo’s half-rebuilt house can be home. Working in his kitchen with Chowder can be home. Shinny with Holster and Ransom and Shitty, helping Nursey apply for PhD programs, late-night phone calls with Lardo. 

Bitty loves these people with everything that he is. And this place gave him these people, so he’ll always be grateful, but this place isn’t his home. 

_They_ are. 


	2. Chapter 2

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 05-MAY–19 | DAY 17 OF 28**

Bitty turns 24 on the first day of the HGTV execs’ visit to the _Easy_ lot, and he doesn’t tell anyone. Chowder’s back in California until he’s due at the Stars’ development camp, Shitty and Lardo flew out to visit Lardo’s family for a few days, and Dex doesn’t start his handyman contract until next week, so he _should_ be able to fly under the radar. With how stressed Jack and Kent (and Sara, and Tony) have been about this visit, he just wants everything to go smoothly.

A stack of empty paint cans falls out a second-story window at one point and Bitty holds his breath after the _all clears_ , assuming there will be a lot of yelling, but everyone just laughs. It makes for good TV, apparently, as Mia explains to him later. No one got hurt, nothing really got damaged, and they caught Kent’s spooked reaction on camera. It’ll probably be in the episode promos. 

Bitty doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand TV, honestly. 

Lunch goes off without a hitch, that’s what matters, and then Bitty ducks out to go see his new kitchen. 

It’s gorgeous. Of course it’s gorgeous. It’s gorgeous and perfect, more than enough elbow room but not so cavernous that he feels silly in there on his own. The appliances are amazing, new enough that he knows he can rely on them without being too space-agey. There are four complete set-ups: One for Bitty, one that’s vacant, and two that are being rented out by other people. No one else is around, but someone left a handbook with a bunch of details and what fridges and freezers are for Bitty, and it’s just. 

He is _not_ about to cry over a kitchen. He has work to do. 

+++

Now that he’s so much closer to the lot, he finally has time to shoot the little behind-the-scenes crew introduction video Sara’s been hassling him for. 

“I’ve seen a couple of your YouTube videos, so I know you know how this goes,” Cho says. “Talk like you’re talking to a friend. Keep working if it feels natural, and look here when you look up to talk to the camera. Try to remember to restate the question when you’re giving an answer.” 

“Got it,” Bitty says, wiping his hands on a spare cloth. “Start with the intro?” 

“Just like we practiced. Whenever you’re ready.” 

“Hey y’all, I’m Eric Bittle. I’m _Easy P-_ Z’s caterer, and this is my first season with the show.” 

“Great,” Cho says. Bitty scoops up another hunk of falafel and starts shaping it into a patty. “And what’s been your favorite moment from shooting the first episode?” 

Bitty laughs. “I have to pick just one?” 

Cho twirls her finger, the universal sign for _keep going_. 

“My favorite moment filming the first episode was probably watching Kent and Jack with the Junior Falcs,” Bitty says. “Or the euchre tournament that day we were waiting for permits to clear. Or when Ryan and Jack got into that argument about the appropriate type of trees to bring in for landscaping. Or Kent running from that pug who escaped from down the street.” 

“Were you a fan of the show before you started working here?” 

“I’d seen most of the episodes, but I wouldn’t say I was a fan of the show so much as I was a fan of Jack and Kent’s. I used to play hockey too, that’s how I know Lardo and Shitty, and —.” 

“Nope.” Cho looks away from the monitor. “You can’t call him Shitty. Or call her Lardo, for that matter, but the _shitty_ part specifically. No swearing on HGTV.” 

Bitty stares. “But those are their names.” 

“Their names are Larissa and Brian,” Cho says, and Bitty squishes mashed chickpea between his fingers. 

“ _Brian_? His name is not _Brian_ , it’s —.” 

“I know what his first name is,” Cho says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen the deed to the house. He doesn’t want us using that, though, and we’re not going to bleep out his name every time someone says it, so he told us to pick something else that starts with B.” 

“My friends are weird people,” Bitty says.

+++

“Hamza? Do you have a minute?”

The exceptionally kind 54-year-old (birthday: April 23. Favorite dessert: Baklava with vanilla bean ice cream) who handles all of the show’s expenses looks over the rims of his glasses. “What can I do for you, Eric?” 

Bitty edges into the production trailer, trying to stay out of the way. “It’s very nice that the show is covering my new kitchen, but it’s not necessary. I can write it off as a business expense. I’d like to pay the show back for the current month’s rent, and be the sole payor for future months if I decide to re-up the lease.” 

Hamza sits back in his chair. “I’d like to help, Eric, but I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“The commercial kitchen? In Framingham? Jack and Kent, or just Jack, really, rented it for me so I’d have a more central location for the rest of the lots this season. I signed on for the contract extension, so…you really don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?” 

“Can’t say that I do. If Jack rented it, he must be paying for it out of his own pocket.” 

+++

“It’s too much.”

Jack looks up from the cabinet he’s restoring. “I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t _sooorry_ me, you Canadian jerk,” Bitty snaps. “You’re paying for my kitchen _out of pocket_?” 

Jack frowns. “Is that a problem?” 

“Of course it’s a problem! It’s not — you can’t just —!” 

Jack frowns harder. “Did you not like it? We can look at other kitchens.” 

“I _love_ it, Jack, of course I love it, but it’s too much.” 

“Think of it as a birthday present. Happy birthday, by the way.” 

“Thank you,” Bitty sighs. He plops down onto a stool across from Jack. “It was not a birthday present. We both know that.” 

“Providence is too far to be convenient, and you were always saying how much you didn’t like your kitchen in Providence anyway,” Jack insists. “You’d said that you wanted something bigger, something nicer, and I thought maybe — you only graduated last year, and your company is still so new, I just thought that maybe you couldn’t afford it and I. I can. So.” 

“You can’t buy people things of this magnitude without asking,” Bitty explains. “Especially not people you’ve only known three weeks.” 

“I didn’t buy it. I rented it.” 

“I will bribe Kent to shave your eyebrows off while you sleep,” Bitty threatens.

“He did that once to me in Juniors,” Jack says. “Wouldn’t take much bribing.” 

“ _Jack_.” 

Jack looks down at the varnish scraper he’s holding. “I’m not always. Great. About money. I used to do the same thing to Kent, you’d think I’d have learned by now.” 

Bitty swallows hard. There’s a lot in that last sentence that he’d rather not look at too closely, for the sake of his sanity. “Will you let me pay you back? And transfer the lease into my name?” 

“Compromise,” Jack says. “I’ll let you pay for half of the month. The other half is a birthday present.” 

“If this is how you do birthdays, I’m surprised Kent doesn’t remember your anniversary,” Bitty says. “What’d you do last year, buy him a castle somewhere?” 

“What?” Jack looks weirdly bothered. 

Bitty snatches the varnish scraper and starts to peel a long strip of opaque yellow residue from the cabinet. “Just something he said at Samwell yesterday. I was asking about your anniversary, so I could bake something for you two, obviously, and Kent didn’t even seem sure what month it was.” 

“Oh.” Jack’s face clears. “Right, well, you know how hockey seasons are. The only days that matter are game days.” 

“Right,” Bitty says, slow. There’s something about that phrasing that’s just a smidge too familiar. “Anyway. How’re the bigwigs?” 

“Matilda and Greg?” Jack grabs an extra scraper from somewhere and gets back to work. “Annoyed about us being behind schedule, but they seem pretty happy otherwise.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 06-MAY–19 | DAY 18 OF 28**

Bitty’s tent is usually pretty much abandoned by 8PM — the crew mostly gets dismissed around 7, there’ll be a few lingerers who didn’t get a chance to eat earlier, and he’ll leave the late-night snacks out until he packs up for good around 8:30. Tonight, though, he comes back from the bathroom to find Kent, Jack, Sara, Potter, and Ryan sitting at a table in the far corner. They’re all in a row, backs to Bitty, heads together. 

Bitty goes about his business, trying to not to make too much noise. There are still a few people working on the house, so there’s enough background. It’s a construction zone. He’s probably not bothering anyone. 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. If it was meant to be a private conversation, wouldn’t they be in a trailer anyway? 

“It’s not impacting usable footage,” Potter says. “We’re shooting 2.5-to-1 unusable-to-usable, budget allows for 3-to-1. Raquel’s solid, but I can’t vouch for some of the newer contractors.” 

“I’m the only one going through the unusable flags,” Ryan adds. “Please, dear God, please don’t go up to 3-to-1.” 

“And the numbers are amazing,” Kent starts. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s great that the projected numbers are so high,” Sara cuts him off. “But if we hit them, you have to know that you’re going to be held to them next year. If we don’t do as well or better, they’ll use whatever reason they want to justify, you know.” 

“And this would just give them another reason,” Jack says. He sounds so, so tired. “Were you able to talk to the Falcs, Kenny?” 

“Just texting. Everyone’s still on board.” 

“Of course they are, there’s no way for this to blow back on them. Except Alexei, but that’s your own business,” Sara says. “If you guys are still serious about this, we need to start talking to YCP.” 

Bitty is officially extremely confused. Is the show at risk of being cancelled? And what does You Can Play have to do with anything? 

Tova comes bustling into the tent, and the other jump apart like they’ve been caught doing something naughty. Jack, when he looks around, makes eye contact with Bitty and pales. 

What on God’s green earth is going on? 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 08-MAY–19 | DAY 20 OF 28**

“Good news!” Kent exclaims, hop-skipping his way across a damn _construction zone_ towards them. His right arm is wrapped tightly around his ribcage. “I found a way to get us back on track with the timeline.” 

Jack sighs and covers his eyes with a hand. “Do I even _want_ to know?” 

Tova storms up and literally grabs Kent by the earlobe, which is a move Bitty hasn’t seen anyone besides a Southern grandmother deploy. “No, Jack, you don’t want to know. You don’t want to know what this _idiot_ did to the second floor landing without wearing safety gear, and you definitely don’t want to know how many stitches he needs.” 

“Stitches?” Bitty repeats, alarmed. Jack just groans into his hand.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Kent says. “We’ll be back from Urgent Care in, like, two hours tops. I’ll text you the plan, Jack, you’re going to love it, we just need Dex to — agh, damnit, Tova, I’m coming, Jesus!” 

+++

“Kent. _Kent._ What are you doing?” 

“Helping, obviously.” Kent stacks two more trays onto the cart, surveys the precarious tower with his hands on his hips, then nods approval and starts pushing it toward Dorothea.

“You have eight stitches in your side,” Bitty says, trailing him. “And you’ve never helped with clean-up before.” 

“That is a blatant — okay, yeah, you’ve got me there. No time like the present to make up for lost time!” 

They arrive at Bitty’s van and Kent holds out his hand for the keys, impatience just vibrating off him in waves. Bitty digs the keys out of his pocket but keeps them, fixing Kent with a Look learned from his Moomaw. 

“You care to explain why you’re being so reckless?” 

Kent groans. “A guy gashes his side open on _one_ piece of rebar, honestly.” 

“Today, sure,” Bitty says. “But how about every other day since I’ve met you? How about the burn on your hand from last week?” 

Kent fiddles with the fraying edge of his palm bandage; Bitty smacks his hand away. “Explaining it makes me sound even more like a moron.” 

Bitty stays pointedly silent until Kent sighs. 

“Fine, fine. Look. Hockey was my whole life from the time I was 6 until I blew out my knee. People figured out that I had a shot at making it to The Show before I even knew what the NHL really was, and from that moment on, everything was about hockey. Making sure I was as perfect for hockey as it was possible to be, and that meant being careful not to get hurt, on and off the ice. I didn’t learn to ride a bike, never built a treehouse, never even went sledding — and let me tell you, 12-year-old Parse, billeted in Canada, did _not_ understand why hockey meant I couldn’t go sledding.” 

He flushes suddenly. “Listen to me, complaining about my life, like I’d _ever_ take the trade-off even knowing I’d make an early exit. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m _saying_ is that I spent twenty years being careful, and now? Now I know how to ride a bike. And how to skateboard. Who cares if I get a little banged up?” 

“Pretty sure Jack cares.” 

“Jack worries more than my own mother. You guys seem to have that in common.” 

+++

“He scared the shit out of me for awhile,” Jack confesses. He’s fiddling with the wiring for some sign that’s supposed to light up and get hung on a wall somewhere. “Seemed like he looked up a list of the most dangerous things you can do and was working his way through them. He started learning to free climb before his knee was even fully rehabbed.” 

Bitty shudders; he’s seen _Free Solo_. “That doesn’t sound like a hobby you’d be interested in.” 

Jack chuckles. “Not as much, no. We’re different people. We want different things.” 

“Is that…” Bitty lets himself trail off, uncertain of his footing here. He’s uncertain of a lot of things, actually. He tucks the last couple Sternos into the tub and puts the lid on to buy himself time. “Forgive my being rude, but it seems like that might cause some strain in a relationship. Wanting different things out of life.” 

There’s something heavy in the quiet, then Jack says, “It’s not like that.”

Bitty falters. “I’m sorry. Jack, I didn’t mean —.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Bitty swallows hard. “No, I don’t suppose I do.” 

Bitty’s focusing on breathing, trying not to let his hands shake as he thinks about how he might have just messed everything up, when Jack suddenly sighs, stands, and crosses the tent to Bitty’s table. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says. “That wasn’t fair of me. Me and Kenny, we’ve been through a lot together. Sometimes it was like we were all each other had, and it still feels like that sometimes. It can be hard not to be…protective.” 

Bitty doesn’t quite make eye contact. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t actually know either of you that well, and you’re entitled to privacy in your relationship.” 

Jack snorts. “You might be the only person on the planet who actually believes that, Bits. Can we talk about something else? You were saying that your mom is fighting with your aunt?” 

The tension doesn’t break, not exactly, but it’s noticeably easier to exhale when Bitty rolls his eyes and says, “Southern women don’t _fight_ , Jack. There’s a way these things are done.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 10-MAY–19 | DAY 22 OF 28**

Half the Falconers’ roster shows up on Friday. Like, literally half — there are a dozen professional hockey players wandering around the lot, following Jack and Kent like exceptionally large ducklings. Jack points something out to his group that makes them all bend at the waist to get a closer look, and Bitty and Shitty muffle their gasps of appreciation. 

“Jack’s ass is still, objectively, the best ass,” Shitty whispers. “But Bitty. _Look_. It’s like a group of beautifully-proportioned ostriches.” 

Bitty has to step away from his prep station to laugh at that one. Staying professional in one’s workspace is important. 

Georgia Martin arrives a few minutes after most of her team, already apologizing to Sara as she gets out of the car. “I know, love, I know, but they didn’t even tell me, I just got a Snapchat from Marcus of a bunch of them in a car. It’s the off-season, I can’t be held responsible for them. Hi,” she finishes, holding out a hand to Bitty. “Georgia Martin, assistant GM for the Falconers. Sara’s wife.” 

“I’ve heard a lot about you!” Bitty says, enthusiastic. “Sara and Jack and Kent have nothing but good things to say. I’m Eric Bittle, with —.” 

“Itty Bitty Catering,” Georgia finishes. She fishes a business card out of her bag and hands it over. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you, too. I know you’re a one-man shop at the moment, but the Falcs host a lot of smaller events throughout the year and our Marketing and Events team hasn’t been thrilled with the food lately. This is the contact info for Rebecca Steinberg, she coordinates vendors for us. Give her a call, if you’re looking to stay busy.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 13-MAY–19 | DAY 23 OF 28**

There are six straight filming days to end the episode, Monday - Saturday, and Jack and Kent start it by calling what amounts to a pre-game huddle. 

“We’ve asked a lot of you before, and we’d be lying if we said we weren’t gonna ever do it again,” Kent starts. Everyone waits for him to keep going, but he just looks over at Jack. “You’re the C, dude, you give the speech.” 

“Charming,” Jack says. “Okay, everyone. Overtime’s been approved across the board. That said, no one is under any obligation and there were be absolutely no repercussions for anyone who doesn’t want the extra hours or can’t make them work. Don’t cut corners for the sake of time. Don’t work if you’re too tired to be safe. Do something that makes you proud to put your name on it, eh?” 

“Eh?” Most of the crew echoes back at him, a well-worn joke. 

Dex, standing next to Bitty, looks confused at first and then concerned when Kent calls, “Construction team, _assemble_!” 

“I’m going to regret agreeing to this, aren’t I?” Dex asks, watching Kent lead his team to the murder board — migrated out of Kent and Jack’s trailer by mounting it onto two massive sheets of balsa wood. 

“Too late for second thoughts,” Bitty says. “Now shoo, your team lead needs you.” 

+++

 

Kent doesn’t come by for dinner. Bitty knows this because Kent requested the mashed sweet potatoes and they were going fast, so Bitty put a little container of them to the side and the container’s still there. No one seems to know where Kent is at the moment, but a late dinner isn’t something worth radioing about, so Bitty just loads up a tray and heads down to the trailers. 

Of course, with both his hands full, there’s really no way to knock, so Bitty stands on the little step and calls, “Kent? Kent, it’s Bitty, I’ve got your dinner.” 

There’s no response, probably because Bitty works in a construction zone and there’s a moderate din from the lot at any given moment. He hazards a kick at the door in lieu of a knock, and it bounces back off the jamb just enough for him to wedge in a toe and let himself in — 

— he lets himself in to see none other than Alexei Mashkov, pants around his ankles, towering over a kneeling Kent Parson who’s got his fingers hooked in the waistband of Tater’s briefs. 

Eric Bittle was raised to be a Southern gentleman. Where he’s from, that means a lot of things, and one of those things is that he knows how to keep his mouth _shut_ when he sees something he wasn’t meant to see. 

So, instead of yelling, instead of making a scene, instead of calling Kent every name he can think of, he calmly sets the plates down on the first flat surface he encounters, backs toward the door, and leaves. 

Kent’s following him before he’s even down the steps. 

“Bitty! Jesus, Bitty —.” 

“I’ve got work to do, Mr. Parson,” Bitty hears himself say, proud of the ice in his voice. He refuses to look back, refuses to stop walking. 

“Bitty, it’s not — Bitty, _please —.”_

All he has to do is make it to Dorothea. He’ll text Chowder that he’s not feeling well, go back to the kitchen for an hour. Cool off, or something. Maybe call Shitty? Lord, what’s a person supposed to _do_ in this situation? 

He gets one hand on Dorothea just as fingers close around his other wrist, and Bitty — 

Eric Bittle was raised to be a Southern gentleman, and one of the things that means is that he does _not_ tolerate someone laying hands on him without his consent. 

—Bitty rips his arm out of Kent’s grasp and gives him a sharp double-handed shove to the chest. For all that Kent used to be a professional hockey player, they’re really not _that_ different in size, and it knocks him back a step. 

“Do _not_ ,” Bitty breathes, ice in his voice and fire in his veins, “touch me.” 

Kent shoots both hands in the air. “I’m sorry,” he starts. “I didn’t — I just — _please_ let me explain.” 

Bitty snorts. He yanks Dorothea’s door open, meaning to get in and slam the door, but Kent catapults forward past him and presses into a corner by the shelves, sitting on his hands. 

“Please,” Kent tries again. “I won’t — I’ll just sit here, I promise, _please_ just listen to me.” 

There is nothing in Bitty’s brain that thinks this is a good idea, but while he’s trying to figure out the least attention-drawing way to get Kent out of his van, he actually looks at Kent for the first time since the trailer, and Kent —

He’s visibly shaking, flushed high on his cheeks, eyes suspiciously wet, and even with a couple yards between them Bitty can see the cording on his arms where he’s trying to hold himself together.

Bitty sits just on the edge of the van’s floor, letting his legs dangle above the pavement. 

Kent blows all the air out of his body. “Thank _God_ , okay, just. Let me. It’s not —.” 

“Mr. Parson,” Bitty says carefully. “It’s really none of my business.” 

“We’re not married!” Kent blurts, then claps his hands over his mouth and looks desperately toward the house. 

“No one hears anything in a construction zone,” Bitty says automatically, and then, “Wait, _what_?” 

“Shit,” Kent says. “Shit, shit, _shit_ , Jack’s going to kill me, we promised we’d only tell people together.” 

“I think you should maybe start from the beginning,” Bitty says. 

“I should call Jack,” Kent says.

+++

“Just let us explain,” Jack says, eyes wild, when he meets them by Dorothea.

“I’m listening,” Bitty says, because for some reason he wants to believe in them. He wants to believe that Kent isn’t cheating, because they’re somehow not married. Also, he might be in shock. 

“Not here,” Kent hisses. “The crew — okay. Here, but not now.” 

+++

“After we came out, everyone just assumed that we were together,” Kent says. The three of them, Jack and Kent and Bitty, are sitting in Lardo and Shitty’s almost-finished kitchen. It’s nearly 11PM. The crew finally all went home, and Bitty’s never heard the lot this quiet. “They made these montages of clips from the Q. And back then, I was doing okay and I’d just started dating Alexei on the DL, but it was…” He trails off, looking to Jack. 

“I was still a mess,” Jack says bluntly. “And we never talked about what we were and weren’t to each other in Juniors, never fully closed that door. Suddenly we were both out of the closet and everyone was talking about us and speculating. It was a very confusing time for both of us. The press conflated our friendship and our ‘relationship,’ and both of those with our ability to play hockey together, to the point where denying any one of those would’ve seemed like we were denying all of them.” 

“So we kept our mouths shut about everything but hockey,” Kent continues. “Let the press decide whatever they wanted. We had Stanley Cup to win, after all,” he adds with a wicked grin. “They decided we were together, and we just…didn’t bother correcting them.” 

“Plus, Alexei’s Russian,” Jack prompts. 

“He and I were spending a lot of time together,” Kent agrees. “There’s that gay propaganda thing in Russia. There would’ve been consequences, for his family back home and for him. But put me in a highly-publicized relationship with Jack, and suddenly I’m not a threat to Alexei’s heterosexuality anymore.” 

“Okay,” Bitty says cautiously. There’s a bottle of bourbon sitting untouched on the counter between them, and he can’t decide if he desperately needs a drink or needs to keep his head clear. “So that’s dating, then. But married?” 

“When Kenny wrecked his knee, they wouldn’t let me in to see him,” Jack explains. “The hospital staff kept telling me it was family-only, that being his boyfriend didn’t give me the right to know what was going on. I was half out of my mind with worry and anxiety and medication; I would’ve done _anything_ to see Kent with my own two eyes at that point. So I told them Kent was my husband.”

“And no one ever checked for paperwork?” 

“We were actually, technically, married for eight months,” Jack says, grimacing when Bitty lets out a few peals of laughter that sound hysterical even to his own ears. “Getting caught in a blatant lie like that would’ve made a bad situation worse. My dad paid someone off to backdate a marriage license and process it, effective two months before Kenny got hurt.” 

“Perks of being Bad Bob Zimmermann,” Kent grins. “We got a quiet divorce, NDA’s all around, after the shitstorm from our retirement announcements died down.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell people then? People get married too young and then get divorced all the time.” 

“HGTV picked up the pilot because of how we pitched it,” Jack says. “What was the original tagline?” 

“Retired hockey husbands,” Kent says. “We both needed a direction to head in after we retired. Weren’t willing to risk the network backing out. Even the title is based on us, y'know, being a pair. _Easy P-Z;_ easy as the Parson-Zimmermann No-Look One-Timer.” 

“What do you even do about dating?” Bitty hears himself ask, because his brain is a traitor. 

“Dating?” Jack repeats, as though it’s a concept he’s heard of but never quite understood. 

“Kent has Tater,” Bitty says. “But Jack, you haven’t dated anyone?” 

“I wasn’t looking to date,” Jack says, suddenly defensive. “It’s only been three years since we retired. I spent most of that first summer in rehab, and by the time I got out, Kent had the idea for the show and it’s been kind of non-stop ever since. The marriage thing kept people from asking questions about. I. I thought I was maybe broken, for a while. Because I wasn’t interested.” 

“You are not _broken_ ,” Bitty says, fierce. “Aromanticism and asexuality are valid —.” 

“I know,” Jack interrupts. “My therapist and I spent a long time talking about identity spectrums. I meant that I, uh. I’ve started to be interested, again. Recently.” 

“Oh,” Bitty says. “That’s. That’s good, then, isn’t it?” 

“There’s been a plan in the works to come clean about everything for a while now,” Kent says. “We’re tired of lying, and me and Alexei are pretty serious about spending the rest of our lives together. Jack getting his groove back is just a happy coincidence.” 

Jack nods. “There’s a lot to take into account, though.” 

“We have to do it carefully. Really, _really_ carefully,” Kent says. “We did so much work with You Can Play and other groups like them. We need to make sure that us telling the truth doesn’t, you know, fuck up any of the good we tried to do.” 

“Leadership for the show and the Falcs have known for a few months,” Jack continues. “Since, what, end of January? We thought the network would drop us, but they’re saying that as long as we control the narrative and our on-screen dynamic doesn’t get damaged, we’ll get renewed for next season.” 

“ _On-screen dynamic,_ ” Kent scoffs. “I’ve been giving you shit since the day we met, Zimms, that ain’t ever gonna change.” 

“That what you and Sara and Potter were talking about after the HGTV executives left,” Bitty says, slotting the half-remembered conversation into a new place in his head. “Projected numbers and unusable footage.” 

“DP’s job on a reality show is to make you forget that they’re there, filming you,” Jack says. “Potter’s good at their job.” 

“They keep catching us saying non-husbandly things to each other, or me talking about Alexei, or Zimms making moon-eyes at his crush —.” 

“Mature,” Jack interjects, dry as anything. 

“Shut up, you know it’s true.” Kent looks at his phone when it pings. “It’s Alexei. Do you mind if I…?” 

“Go ahead,” Bitty says. “It’s late, and we have a long week coming up. Go talk to him.” 

Kent smiles something small and honest before wandering away, phone pressed to his ear. Calling his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who is not Jack, because Jack and Kent are not together. 

Well. What a day _this_ turned out to be. 

+++

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” 

“For the third time, Jack, I’m perfectly fine,” Bitty says. They’re walking slowly toward Bitty’s van, a nearly full moon lighting the way. 

“It’s been a long day. And you’re weren’t expecting. That.” 

“Can’t say that I was, no, but nothing about the past four weeks has been anything I expected.” They reach Dorothea and Bitty leans against the door. “I also can’t say that I’m thrilled that you’ve been lying to so many people for so long. And about something so important.” 

“The way I see it,” Jack says, tipping his shoulder into Dorothea to mirror Bitty’s position, “and maybe this is just how I’ve taught myself to see it so I don’t feel like a terrible person, but the way I see it is this: Basically everyone who actually _knows_ us, knows the truth. Our families have known since the beginning. The Falconers we’re closest to, too — Marty, Snowy, Thirdy. George. One of the PTs Kent’s still friends with. Carey Price, from when Kent was on the Habs. I told Crosby, which probably means Malkin and Letang and Flower know. Tater told Alex Ovechkin, so probably every Russian in the NHL.” 

“And the _Easy_ crew?” 

“Almost everyone who’s been with us since the first season, minus some of the pre/post-production people who we don’t know too well.” 

“I’m not sure if this is the best or the worst secret-keeping I’ve ever heard of,” Bitty says.

“We’ve tried to be honest with the people who know us,” Jack continues. He rolls so that both his shoulder blades are against Dorothea; the moonlight throws shadow across his features. “The people who have a right to know.” 

Bitty can’t help asking, “Was I going to be one those people?” 

Jack’s nodding before Bitty’s even finished asking the question. “You, and probably Shitty and Lardo. Shits wants me and Kent to join his beer league team. Can’t play hockey with someone who doesn’t know the truth about you. Need someone you can trust on your wing.” 

“I used to play wing.” 

“I know.” 

Pause. Breath. A car driving down the street. 

“If you need to talk to someone about everything,” Jack says, “you can tell Shitty. I’d prefer that he hear it from me and Kent, if you don’t mind waiting, but I don’t want to ask you to lie to him.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Bitty says, and Jack makes a face. “I mean it! I’ll think about it. It’s a lot to take in, Jack. I’m still processing. I need some time. To process.” 

Jack nods, resolute, and pushes himself upright. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow,” Bitty agrees. He climbs into the driver’s seat, closes his eyes. 

“Hey, Bits?” 

Bitty opens his eyes and looks out his open window; Jack’s standing there with his hands in his pockets and a cautious smile. 

Bitty doesn’t know what’s showing on his face. Exhaustion, probably, and confusion. Whatever it is, it clearly makes Jack rethink whatever he was about to say. 

“Sorry, never mind,” Jack says. “Drive safe. Get some sleep.” 

“Yeah,” Bitty agrees. “Good night, Jack.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 14-MAY–19 | DAY 24 OF 28**

“Brah. I am not about to diss the snazzy hotel I’ve been staying at free-of-charge while my house is getting turned into a dream palace free-of-charge, but I am so sick of the hotel that I’m considering turning to a life of crime on the high seas just for a change of pace.” 

“Sure,” Bitty agrees. “Hand me the basil.” 

“I totally understand that they want to capture the _big reveal_ when we see the place on Saturday, but not being able to visit the set anymore is just cruel. You’re there, Dex is there, Jackie-boy and Parson and Hamza. So many of my favorite people all in one place, and I’m _banned_.” 

Bitty looks up from pulling mozzarella. “Hamza is one of your favorite people?” 

Shitty leans across the prep counter. “Haven’t you heard his stories about growing up outside Cairo? Shit is _wild._ ” 

“Hmm.” 

They’re in Bitty’s rental kitchen, neutral ground that Shitty’s allowed to visit so long as Bitty doesn’t tell him anything about the house. Shitty’s supposed to be helping, but he’s really just pacing circles around Bitty’s station — and probably annoying the pants off Tomás, one of the other renters, who’s using liquid nitrogen to do something that looks less than well-advised. 

“Something on your mind, Bits?” 

There are a _lot_ of things on Bitty’s mind. He couldn’t fall asleep when he got home last night, instead sitting up way too late replaying moments from the last month in his head. Everything looks so _different_ in the new content; Bitty was half-expecting to show up to the lot today and have everything be completely out of sync with what he remembered. 

Instead, lunch service was totally normal. No one tried to have any other serious, private conversations with him. He doesn’t feel like he’s seeing either Jack or Kent, as individuals, in a new light. Sure, it makes sense now that there are no pictures of Jack and Kent doing couple-y things in their trailer, only pictures of them on the ice together, but they’re still just…Jack and Kent.

They clearly care about each other a lot, anyone with eyes (or a camera) can see that, but there’s nothing particularly romantic about the way they interact, and they’ve never been touchy-feely. Pet names are only used sarcastically. They don’t even wear wedding rings — Jack’s always said that he works with his hands too much and the silicone ones bother him, and Kent broke the last three fingers on his left hand at some point and played with the injury for so long that his knuckles are messed up.

“Just a busy week,” Bitty says. “Can you go bring me the three purple mixing bowls from the second fridge over there? My name’s on it.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 15-MAY–19 | DAY 25 OF 28**

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Sunday?” 

Bitty pauses in the middle of placing the next nail. He had thirty minutes to spare after dinner and they’re in an all-hands-on-deck situation, so he’s literally got his hands on a deck and is helping with assembly. Jack’s bracing boards, Bitty’s wielding a hammer, and Dex just went to go reconfirm the measurements. “I beg your pardon?” 

Jack is looking anywhere but at Bitty. “This Sunday. I realize it’s our only day off between this episode and starting the Marlborough one, but. I. I don’t want to waste any more time.” 

“Asking someone to dinner like that sounds like you’re asking them on a date.” 

“Good,” Jack says. “Because that’s what I’m doing.” 

“Jack. Most of the world thinks that you’re married. I can’t go on a date with a married man.” 

“But I’m _not_ married, and you know I’m not.” 

“You want to take me on a date. Me.” 

“See, this is why I think Kenny’s full of shit. He keeps going on about how _obvious_ I’ve been this whole time.” 

“You’re super obvious,” Dex says, and both Bitty and Jack jump. “It’s just that Bitty’s super oblivious. Make him tell you about the time he didn’t realize he was dating the guy from his anthro lecture until their three-month anniversary.” 

“ _Hanging out_ is an extremely unspecific term,” Bitty protests. 

“Good to know you’re not married, though,” Dex considers, rolling right past Bitty’s indignation. "I wasn’t looking forward to having to tell Jack Zimmermann not to cheat on his husband.” 

“That’s it?” Bitty says. “That’s your entire reaction?” 

Dex shrugs. “I fake-dated Nursey for almost a whole year so his family would stop trying to set him up. I’m not really in a place to judge something like this.” 

Jack tilts his head. “Haven’t you and Nurse been together for a year and a half?” 

“Like I said,” Dex says. “Not in a place to judge.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 16-MAY–19 | DAY 26 OF 28**

 

Bitty taps the toes of his shoes against the doormat, stalling. He’s not sure he wants to talk to Kent Parson. He’s not sure he _can_ talk to Kent Parson, not today. Although today is, technically, now tomorrow — it’s past 1AM. His mama would be absolutely ashamed of him, showing up uninvited at someone’s house at this hour. Showing up _empty-handed_ , no less. He’s nearly talked himself into leaving and trying again in the morning when the door swings open. 

“Bitty?” Kent rubs sleep out of his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry to wake you up. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?” 

Kent blinks a few times. It’s like watching a little kid who’s protesting bedtime while actively falling asleep. His hair is fluffier than normal. “Yeah, sure,” he finally says, turning and leading the way down the hall. “C’mon in. Shut the door behind you, would you? Don’t want the cat to get out.” 

They wind up in Kent’s living room. Kent has a nice house; they’re in the northern suburbs of Providence, only about 15 minutes from Bitty’s apartment. The interior design choices have definitely been influenced by Jack’s eye, and there are signs of Jack spending a lot of time here, but as Bitty now knows, Jack doesn’t live here. Jack has his own house, a smaller place, another 10 minutes past here. 

Jack’s house is titled to Bob and Alicia Zimmermann, under the pretense of wanting to have somewhere to stay that isn’t a hotel when they come to visit their son and his husband. 

Only Kent isn’t Jack’s husband, and Jack and Kent have separate houses because they’re not married, and Jack asked Bitty on a date and Bitty still hasn’t given him an answer. 

“This about Zimms?” Kent asks, tossing himself onto a couch. A grey-and-white cat slinks into the room and deposits itself on his chest. “He said he asked you out, and that you’ve been dodging him since. If you came here hoping I’d spill all his secrets or whatever, you’re in the wrong place. Me and Zimms are cradle-to-grave.” 

“It’s not that. I mean, it is about Jack, but it’s not that —it took me a long time,” Bitty says, “to come out of the closet. To be comfortable in my own skin. I’m not going to lie about who I am, or who I’m with. Not ever again.” 

Kent sucks on his teeth. “I get that, I do. But I don’t think that’s what he’s asking you to do. Jack isn’t always, y’know, awesome at communicating. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you about the call we had with the network on Tuesday, or the extra footage we shot yesterday?” 

“What extra footage?” 

Kent laughs. “Typical Zimmermann. The extra footage that’s going to play before this episode airs. Us explaining that we’re not married, haven’t been for two years, and only told people we were married in the first place because Jack was in a bad place mentally, and I wasn’t doing too much better after the injury.” 

Bitty’s not sure he’s breathing. “Isn’t this episode supposed to air in two weeks?” 

“Yep.” 

“Holy shit.” 

“Yep. So if that’s all that was bothering you —.” 

“Are you still in love with him?” Bitty blurts, and he wishes he could grab the words and stuff them back into his mouth, but he has to know. Kent and Jack might not be married, but they have a history so long and shared and intimate that he just. He needs to know. 

Kent nudges the cat to the ground and sits up. He fixes Bitty with a hard stare. “You and I don’t know each other very well, so I’m going to forgive the implication that I’d be leading Alexei on if I was still in love with Jack. But you — shit, I need coffee for this, but I don’t want to be awake _after_ this. Fuck. Okay, here’s the thing: 

“Zimms and I. We weren’t. We weren’t good for each other when we were together. In Juniors, everything was so — the only thing that mattered was hockey. I know, I know, poor little kids who got everything they ever wanted, blah blah blah, but looking back? We wanted hockey and we wanted each other, and we got those things. But what we _needed_ were support systems, and for someone to look past our bullshit answers and bullshit excuses and call us on being terrified and cracking under pressure. And we didn’t. We couldn’t be that for each other.” 

Kent’s voice has been getting progressively thicker; he coughs it clear. “It all just built and built and built, and after the draft he went to Vegas, alone in a new city, and they hung the hopes and dreams of a new franchise on him. Me, I went to Montreal, where I had veterans to teach me and got to have dinner with Jack’s parents every few weeks, and yeah, there was pressure, but I wasn’t alone. Finally started seeing a therapist to work through some of my shit. By the time I got to Providence, I was a mostly-functional human.” A small, shy smile crosses his face as he adds, “I met Alexei.”

Bitty has so, so many questions, but Kent clears his throat again and keeps talking.

“Jack had already been in Providence since the middle of the previous season, and it was like watching a car crash over and over. I think it’s why George fought so hard to get me, honestly, because he was off the rails. We’d kept in touch and I knew he wasn’t doing _awesome_ on his own in Vegas, but they won the Cup and he seemed happy, but he. He got better at hiding it, you know? I think I’d lost some of my ability to read him, too, because I knew it was bad but I didn’t know _how_ bad. I couldn’t, or I didn’t, I _should_ have done more, I know that. I know how lucky I am that he still. That I’m still welcome in his life. That he doesn’t hate me, for not doing more.” 

Kent coughs into his shoulder again, and Bitty only now notices that he’s using the motion to wipe his cheeks on his sweatshirt. 

“I do love him,” Kent says. “Not like a brother, because it’s weird to say that about someone you used to sleep with. But close enough. And I’ll probably love him forever. If that’s a problem for you, honestly you can fuck right off. But I haven’t been _in_ love with Jack Zimmermann in over a decade, which is what you were actually asking.” 

Bitty can’t help asking, voice barely audible, “Is he still in love with you?” 

“That’s a question for him,” Kent says. “I mean, the answer’s no. But it’s a question for him. We’re not the same people we were when we were 18, thank fuck. Can I go back to bed now?” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 17-MAY–19 | DAY 27 OF 28**

When Ricardo comes back from a coffee run, he hands two of the cups to Kent, who immediately tilts his head back and downs most of the contents of the smaller cup in one go. 

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Ricardo asks. “Six shots of espresso is kinda a lot.” 

“Didn’t sleep well,” Kent grimaces. 

“Nervous about getting everything done?” 

“Something like that,” Kent says, winking at Bitty. 

+++

“Sara to crew,” chimes the walkie-talkie chorus. “It is 1:05PM on our last full work day. We’re in the 24-hour window. If there’s anything you’re assigned to do that isn’t going to get done, now’s the time to ask for help.” 

“Cece to crew, there’s something wrong with the faucets in the upstairs guest bathroom.” 

“Dex to Cece, I can take that.” 

“Adrien to crew, the rolling barn door needs to be hung.” 

“Parse to Adrien, bump it to post-wrap.” 

“Bert to crew, anyone remember where I put the hardware for the bookshelf?” 

+++

_Lardo 3:44PM_

_You’d tell me if it looked horrible, right?_

 

_Bitty 3:47PM_

_I would do no such thing_

_It doesn’t, though :)_

+++

 

“After the episode airs,” Bitty says. 

“What?” Jack accepts the plate Bitty passes through the window. He’s bolting all-weather chairs on to the roof extension they added over the back deck. Shitty’s not the sort of guy who wants a traditional home office, so they made him a new Reading Room, complete with weather-proof furniture and a railing.

“I’d like to have dinner with you,” Bitty says. “After this episode airs.” 

Jack puts his wrench down. “Just to be clear, you’re saying that you’ll go on a date with me in two weeks. I want to make sure, because I hear you once dated someone on accident for three months.” 

“To be fair,” Bitty says, “I figured it out when he tried to kiss me. And you could’ve told me that you and Kent were planning on coming clean this episode when you asked me out, it would’ve sped this process along.” 

“I didn’t want to put that pressure on you,” Jack says. “Didn’t want you to feel obligated to say yes because of the timing.” 

“The timing is awful and this is going to be really, really difficult,” Bitty agrees. “Think it’ll be worth it?” 

Jack picks his wrench back up. “Bits. I think it’ll be worth everything.” 

+++

“We’re never re-roofing a place ever again,” Kent says. “It takes too damn long and it’s impossible to work on after the sun goes down. Mark my words, never again.”

“Consider them marked,” Jack says. “We already committed to it for the episode 4 house, though.” 

+++

_Unknown 5:20PM_

_B! Am hearing you say yes to Zimmboni, go on date?_

 

_Bitty 5:48PM_

_Who is this?_

 

_Unknown 5:49PM_

_Tater ))) We have lunch together soon, yes?_

 

_Bitty 8:11PM_

_Sorry, had to get dinner set out. Lunch? You and me?_

 

_Alexei Mashkov 8:14PM_

_Yes!!!_

+++

 

“Kenny told his core guys yesterday,” Jack says. He stifles a yawn as he picks up another stack of empty chafing dishes. “I told most of the production team. We told Tova and Cho after dinner.” 

“And it’s been going okay?” Bitty accepts the dishes and takes a few steps into Dorothea to shelve them. “Everyone’s been…okay?” 

“Most people are surprised, but no one’s reacted badly,” Jack says. “Tova knew some of it already, turns out. Me and Kenny are each other’s emergency contacts, but we don’t get listed as spouses on official medical paperwork anymore. I think Dennis will probably try to give Tater the shovel talk, which should be hilarious.” 

“You’re telling people about Tater, too?” Bitty says, hating how his voice goes up a little as his heart rabbits. “Are you already telling people about me?” 

“Hey, hey.” Jack catches Bitty’s hand and tangles their fingers together, just a little. “No. I wouldn’t tell people about us without talking to you about it first.” 

“Us? We haven’t even been on a date yet. We don’t know if this _works_.” 

Jack smiles softly. “Are you honestly worried about that? Because I’m not worried about that.” 

Bitty looks at where their fingers are intertwined. “You’re a little bit headstrong, Mr. Zimmermann. Anyone ever tell you that?” 

“Just wait until you meet my father,” Jack deadpans. 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S3E1 “THE WELLESLEY WELLIES” | 18-MAY–19 | DAY 28 OF 28**

“Brah,” Shitty says slowly, voice thick, “Jackie, you beauteous bastard. Is that…” 

“The front door from the Samwell hockey Haus.” Jack nods, hand on the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable. Potter, making a big show of grumbling about Shitty’s swear, announces that they’re taking their camera rig to go get detail shots inside of the house. Most of the crew has wandered that way anyway, now that the “big reveal” is over. 

“You took their front door?”

“We offered, actually,” Dex chimes in. “We thought it might be a nice way for you guys to remember us. Everyone agreed.” 

Shitty’s legitimately tearing up now, and he throws himself into Dex’s arms with a loud sniffle. Dex hugs back briefly, then passes him off to Nursey for more prolonged cuddling. 

Lardo looks up at Jack. “You gave them our old door, I’m guessing?” 

“Stripped off the paint, refinished the original wood, put in new windows,” Jack confirms. “It’s important to keep the integrity of historical pieces like that intact, when we can.” 

“Which brings us to our next topic,” Kent says. “This was our first time filming a special like this, getting to do more than just superficial stuff. We really liked it, and our execs think it’s going to be super popular. If the numbers hit what they’re projecting, they’ll approve us doing one of these a season. We were thinking, maybe, that we could take on the Haus next year?” 

There are a lot of simultaneous reactions — Holster and Ransom fist-bump, Foxtrot legitimately squeals, Bitty’s jaw drops open, Lardo presses a hand to her mouth.

“We’d have to come to an agreement with your school, obviously,” Jack says, making eye contact with Whiskey and Hops. “And it’d be up to you guys and the younger members of the team, the people who are still living there. Wouldn’t start anything until after your season, of course.” 

“Fucking _long_ season it’ll probably be, too,” Kent says. “Unless you plan on skipping the Final Four for once.” 

“Nah, it’s gonna be long,” Hops says. “Probably shouldn’t put us on the schedule until June.” 

 

 

**EASY P-Z | S4E3 “HAUS 2.0” | 28-JUN-20 | DAY 2 OF 32**

“Hey y’all, I’m Eric Bittle from Itty Bitty Catering, and this is my second season with _Easy P-Z_.” 

_What are you most looking forward to this season?_

“This season I’m most looking forward to this episode, actually. I went to Samwell, I played on the hockey team, I lived in this Haus for three years. This place means a lot to me, and I’m so happy to be a part of the crew that’s going to make sure it’s around for years to come.” 

_What do you do when the show isn’t filming?_

“Cater events around the Providence and Boston areas, mostly. I’ll be opening a bakery in downtown Providence after this season, actually.” 

_We’ve heard about your baking. Word on the street is that several of the Providence Falconers now swear by sandwiches made with your bread as part of their pre-game rituals._

“That’s between me and the Falcs. And their nutritionist. Sorry, Nate.” 

_The other word on the street is that you and Jack Zimmermann are dating._

Bitty raises an eyebrow at Cho. “‘The street’ being my YouTube channel, where Jack and I announced that six months ago?” 

Cho affects a look of supreme innocence. “Just asking what the people want to know. Go again.” 

_The other word on the street is that you and Jack Zimmermann are dating_. 

“We are. We’ve been together for about a year.” 

_What’s it like to work with someone you’re dating?_

Bitty turns to put the next set of baking sheets in the oven to buy himself time to think. Snippets of the last year flash through his head: The fallout from Jack and Kent’s announcement, the _other_ fallout when Kent and Tater announced their engagement, shooting the whole rest of last season while all of that was happening, becoming a regular contractor for the Falconers, finding the perfect storefront in Providence. 

And Jack. Being with Jack. Building something together, something new and precious and slow and sturdy. Meeting Bob and Alicia, Jack meeting Coach and Mama. Talking and fighting and listening and helping and loving.

“Well, as the boys would say,” Bitty says. He turns back to the camera and gives it the cheesiest wink he possibly can. “It’s _Easy P-Z._ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote this half a million times. I was SO SURE when I started drafting everything that there's be a big dramatic climax in the last scene, probably at the episode wrap party, and there'd be announcements of love and shouting about secrets and someone would storm out into the rain and someone would chase after them. And I wrote that, and I hated it, and then I wrote something else and hated that, and then repeated that, and then I landed here. 
> 
> Anyway. I love Check Please and this has been delightful. Thank you to all the readers, commenters, and kudos-givers -- I'll do my best to respond to everything, but please know that I read everything and squeal to myself in happiness even if I don't write back. 
> 
> <3 EBJ
> 
> (and yes I am AWARE that it's actually the Zimmermann-Parson No-Look One-Timer but that didn't work for the pun leave me alone)


End file.
